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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527593">Ahriman Martyr</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_lil_hyena/pseuds/Sleepy_lil_hyena'>Sleepy_lil_hyena</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ahriman Martyr AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Hideo Kojima Game, Abrupt Comic Relief, Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Adora will break TERFs' fucking kneecaps, Also The Trench Is In Space, And Maybe Iceland, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Baking, Biological Weapons, Blood and Gore, But also adorable and wholesome, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra continues being a food snob, Catra really likes how strong Adora is, Condoms, Conflict, Conspiracy, Cookies, Crying, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Cute, Cybernetics, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Dubious Morality, Evil Plans, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Gardens &amp; Gardening, Gender Dysphoria, Girl Penis, Grimdark, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, Hangover, Healing, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied handjob, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Inspirational Speeches, Karaoke, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Loving Sex, M/M, Mac and Cheese, Misgendering, Misogyny, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot Twists, Post-War, Prison, Prisoner of War, Rough Sex, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Sleepiness, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Dancing, Some Humor, Song: Africa (Toto), Song: Purple Rain, Song: The Less I Know The Better, Space D Day, Swordfighting, Teasing, Therapy, This fic is 451 pages long holy shit, Top Adora (She-Ra), Trans Catra (She-Ra), Trans Female Character, Transbian Catgirl Snake Plisskin Beats The Shit Out Of Jeremy Irons In A World War 1 Trench, Transmisogyny, Transphobia, Trench Warfare, Vaginal Fingering, Waffles, War, Weapons of Mass Destruction, What Was I Thinking?, You are all wonderful people</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:21:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>118,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_lil_hyena/pseuds/Sleepy_lil_hyena</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost three years have passed since Adora and her allies triumphed over the fascist Horde Prime's tyranny; incidentally, the Princess of Power is also approaching her three-year anniversary of her relationship with Catra, now her Lord Protector second-in-command in the Etherian Provisional Government. The pair are adjusting well to their new life in the safety of one of the walled "Station" cities on Etheria, and beyond some unwelcome political deskwork all is good in the world. Yet things are not entirely what they seem. The two are drawn towards conspiracy and internal drama as new threats--and other unexpected relationship developments--begin to emerge across the EPG's new frontier. Some struggles are simply a surprise; others are unthinkably terrifying. As a wounded Catra recounts the events of this chaotic time on the forgotten battlefields of a new war, the lines are drawn for a new, tumultuous period that will test how far the two lovers are willing to go for their relationship, home and livelihood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Double Trouble/Wrong Hordak (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Kyle/Lonnie/Rogelio (She-Ra), Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra), Sea Hawk/Wrong Hordak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ahriman Martyr AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hell Freezes Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Planet Ahriman, three years after the defeat of Horde Prime. On a new battlefield in a new conflict, Lord Protector Catra records the events of her recent life, marooned amongst the mud and blood of No Man's Land.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Outside in the cold distance, a wild cat did growl </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>- Jimi Hendrix </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Prologue: Hell Freezes Over</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was insufferably cold. Wherever this was, it was like Hell's deep freeze. Why wouldn't someone do something about the damn cold? Of course, that was when reality set back in. Those moments between sleep and wakefulness when the events prior to sleep come flooding back. That was when the memories of the mission going completely off course arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Catra awoke, she noticed only slight recollections of the mission's events. Something had happened with the Colonel. Bow was gone. Contact with the Queen or command was out of the question. Her uniform was covered in frost and her body ached from exposure to Ahriman's frozen wastes. Well, except for a patch of growing warmth on her side. She could barely move in her current state, but she managed to run her numb, frostbitten hands across the source of the warmth. She didn't like what she found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's my blood. That is my blood. That is a lot of my blood," she spat out, throat feeling like she had the worst tonsillitis imaginable, "Goddammit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain came back like a creeping barrage. As her eyes slowly regained focus, she observed both her condition and her surroundings. She was still right in the middle of No Man's Land, right where the Colonel had left her and Bow for dead. Right where he'd sealed the fate of the Etherian Provisional Government on Ahriman. The wound in her side, still bleeding far more than was safe, was the result of a gunshot from a high caliber handgun. The Colonel's handgun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't quit...I'm still breathing. I can't quit..." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was too much at stake. The mission, the Colonel...and of course, Adora. Catra's whole body ached with chills and throbs, part weather and part gaping bullet hole, but her resolve was stronger. It had to be. One last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No Man's Land was exactly as she'd left it, strewn with debris and a thin dusting of snow. She remembered it from beforehand, before the encounter with the Colonel, and from there she knew there was an Etherian field hospital a few minutes' walk to the northeast. It'd mean hiking through quite a bit of debris and potential enemies, but it would be worth it. Her hand darted to the gun at her hip, the giant stupid flechette pistol Entrapta made for her, and when she checked the chamber it had three rounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That works," she croaked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked for an eternity, trying to reach the field hospital before the blood loss set in. The snow crunched under her boots and every now and then something else would crunch underfoot; shrapnel, detritus, frozen blood and bone. The battlefield was a veritable testament to the phrase "when hell freezes over". Ironic, given that her survival up until this point seemed about as likely as that phrase. Eventually, the shadow of a building, definitely one of the squat prefab hab units the Etherians had deployed for the campaign, came into view. The hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra's relief slowly turned to dismay as she noticed the two figures standing near the field hospital. The snow, coupled with the excruciating pain she was in, obscured her view of the others but they were definitely enemies. The obsidian colored mining carapace coupled with the dimly-glowing red-visored facsimiles of Horde soldier helmets set her off to that much. Even in the snow, the red lights were prominent. Luckily, the snow also provided a way to get the drop on those bastards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew her flechette pistol and cautiously advanced on their position, bent into a crouch. With three shots left, Catra was going to have to make her shots count. Assuming she went for the head, three would be more than enough, but she was also heavily wounded and greatly suffering from exposure to the cold. Not exactly peak performance in other words. Luckily, those red helmets made headshots a fairly guided process even with the damage to her own frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the Colonel's thugs were in view--even more wretched up close in their scrap metal armor--she got the one closest to her in her irons and didn't waste a minute popping a round off. She was bleeding out fast. This firefight was going to have to be quick and clean, elsewise she'd be rotting in an unmarked grave by the end of this. She'd never go home to her Adora again. The Colonel might be defeated in the end, sure, but, well...she couldn't let Adora down like that. She made a promise to come home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first of the thugs went down with the sound of shattering armor and hissing pneumatics as the helmet broke and its internal rebreather followed. She smelled the other one coming before they'd even drawn their rifle. The surviving soldier charged with their bayonet, hoping to close the encounter with the wounded Etherian officer without firing a shot. Big mistake. Even in her hazy, pain-gorged state, Catra was famously a close combat scrapper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shoved the bayonet--on closer inspection, the "bayonet" was in fact an industrial screwdriver that had been welded to the cheap self-loading rifle's barrel, resulting in a hilariously stupid chimera of a firearm--aside and crouched down to all fours. With the soldier staggered, Catra pounced on them and grabbed their neck as if by reflex. Her claws were perhaps not a great substitute for her sabre, which was seemingly nowhere to be found, but they worked in a pinch. They were through the soldier's flimsy platemail in minutes and shredded their throat. They sputtered and went limp, and just like that the confrontation was mercifully over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting into the hospital was easy enough. None of the lights were on and the occupants had long since vacated the unit--whether to retreat or to advance Catra did not know--but the biometric lock was still up and running. She placed her right palm over the touch pad's dim purple glow and felt it scan her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Profile recognized. Welcome, Lord Protector," the system's mechanical voice droned, distorted by damage from frost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the hospital was pretty much in the state Catra had imagined it would be. The occupants had had to flee in a hurry, leaving everything in a state of disarray. Getting proper treatment was out of the question, but she could probably get something for the pain and something for the bleeding from whatever leftover supplies they had. The stocks were a total mess, that much was apparent. Thankfully, she tended to be pretty good with mess compared to order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a good solid (and extraordinarily painful) couple of moments of scrounging, she found a can of medical sealant and a bottle of painkillers. The former would be no substitute for proper surgery, but it would stop the bleeding and block any bullet chunks from causing too much poisoning handily. The latter would take some of the edge off, though she likely wouldn't take too many of them. Getting high was one thing, getting high in a warzone that she was on the losing team in was another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth was drier than the Sahara of Earth-That-Was, but she forced herself to swallow two of the pain meds nonetheless. She gagged a bit, whether from the sensation or the taste she couldn't tell. Applying the sealant was a little less grotesque. The regenerative gel was somehow colder on her skin and fur than Ahriman's weather was, and it stung like crazy as it did its work, but by then the pills were already kicking in. Something that powerful and fast acting would likely fetch a good price on the street, but that was a hustle for someone with fewer scruples and less drive to clean their act up. Then again, she was out here fighting a losing war, killing again, bleeding again, doing all the things she said she'd turned her back on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last few months had been a total whirlwind. The intimacy, the publicity mayhem, the initial attacks, the war...and the other thing that made all the other ones more uncomfortable. She wanted to say sorry for everything to Adora all over again. Come to think of it, maybe she could. Looking at her belt, she noticed most of her equipment--her speed reloaders, her sabre, even her snacks--had been pilfered by the enemy, but somehow her communicator was still there. Reverse engineered First Ones tech, based on one of Bow's prized possessions. Probably worth a lot more than swords, shells or pretzels. Yet here it was, and thank goodness for that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra booted the little machine up, a part of her surprised it was still functional. She selected voice memos from the home page, opening the app to get a few of what could be her final thoughts down. Just now noticing that the heating in the hospital didn't seem to be functional, Catra elected to worry about it later once the sealant and pills did their thing. Once she'd gotten some thoughts down, too. She hit record without further delay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is Lord Protector Catra, Etherian Provisional Government, 101st Bright Moon Fusiliers, 3rd Starborne Brigade. To whom it may concern, I'll probably be dead by the time you hear this. The offensive against the Second Legion on Ahriman has gone completely sideways and I've been separated from the rest of the regiment," she paused and broke into a coughing fit; when she pulled her hand away, there was blood on it, "Fuck. I never meant for any of this to happen. I thought my days doing wetwork were over. I figure the least I can do is say something about how I fucked it all up, though. Hopefully this stays away from Colonel Typhon or the rest of his fanatics. So, on the off chance this makes it into the right hands, let's do this one more time. From the top." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, a gentle thing that spiralled out of control from the absurdity of it all and eventually broke into another burst of coughs before Catra choked out one phrase. A powerful phrase. A familiar phrase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Adora." </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Brave New World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Skipping back some time to before the Ahriman war began, Catra and Adora are settled on Etheria together with eyes towards a bright future. Adora continues to challenge her physical limits and struggles to embrace new political responsibilities--pencil pushing is a lot different from sword fighting--while Catra is embracing various hobbies that seemed almost ridiculous three years ago. The Lord Protector is still suffering from repressed trauma and dysphoria around her identity, but she has made a point of working through it. However, when a stranger approaches Catra with news of a mysterious bombing on the frontier roadways, there arises some minor discomfort...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 1: Brave New World </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The way the sunlight shone through the windows and spread across the bed like liquid gold was all very inviting. Adora would have been up this early anyway to go for her usual morning jog, but this just sweetened the deal. She stretched her arms and legs out to their maximum, hands overhead and feet jutting outwards, and concluded that the sleepiness was worth it just to see the sun rise. Her girlfriend couldn't say the same, of course. Catra would probably sleep in, like she always did. It was cute, though. </p><p>Adora rose from bed slowly, angling to throw on her running clothes and then head to the usual trail, yet as she did so she heard something that concerned her. Catra sounded a bit like she was hyperventilating in her sleep, disturbingly enough. Adora ran a hand down her girlfriend's back in an effort to calm her down. Her fur was always so goddamn soft, it was almost surreal. The back rubs seemed to do the trick and Catra's breathing slowly returned to normal, but not before Adora thought she heard Catra choke out a word. </p><p>"...No..." </p><p>Adora instinctively recoiled, unsure if her lover was saying no to her specifically. </p><p>"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Adora whispered. </p><p>Upon closer inspection, "awake" didn't really describe Catra's current state in the slightest. Still, she began to stir a bit, stretching in her own way and rolling over to face Adora. The way she looked in the morning light, auburn fur and long brown hair juxtaposed with the vermillion glow like an autumnal collage, made Adora feel utterly melted. It was just too beautiful. Despite this, Adora still felt a pang of concern for whatever it was that Catra had been making strange sleep noises over. </p><p>"You in there, Catra?" Adora asked, still barely whispering. </p><p>There was a brief moment of silence. Adora didn't mind that, of course; gave her an excuse to keep taking in the beauty that was Catra in the dawn, after all. She watched as her beautiful girl, her one and only, her Lord Protector batted her eyes open and came back into the waking world. For a moment she stared absentmindedly ahead, then after a while refocused on her paramour. Catra was thankful she did, because her opinions on how Adora looked in the sun's glow were equal to Adora's view on how Catra looked. Adora, her princess, looked almost like a goddess from here. Which was all the better as she began to recollect what she had dreamt of. </p><p>"Hey, Adora," Catra slurred, sleep still in her voice. </p><p>"Hey, hun. Sleep okay?" Adora asked. She still couldn't get over how cute Catra was in this light. Or all the time, come to think of it. </p><p>Catra smiled, still weak from sleepiness. She outstretched a hand, and naturally Adora took hold of it. Adora felt Catra pull the hand to her cheek, felt the silky fuzz of her face. Yet something was wrong. Catra had a look on her face that was tranquil on the surface, the corners of her mouth raised ever-so-gently, but there was underlying discomfort in it. She was holding something back, Adora could feel it. She could read her girlfriend, a notoriously mercurial soul if there ever was one, like an open book. </p><p>"I know that look," Adora said, voice still soft. </p><p>"What look?" Catra asked, voice still muddied. </p><p>"You had that dream again, didn't you?" </p><p>Catra's eyes went wide and whatever trace of a smile had been visible on her before totally vanished. Adora didn't need a yes or no. She knew she'd struck a cord just based on that reaction. How could she not? It was a pretty visceral reaction. </p><p>"...Yeah," Catra answered, sounding defeated. </p><p>Catra had been recounting to Adora this same recurring nightmare for the better half of a month now. It tended towards slight variances between occurrences, but the core concept was always the same each time she recounted it. She was always back in the Fright Zone, being stared down by that insufferable ex-mentor of her's, Shadow Weaver. It was like an endless playback of all the worst things she'd said to Catra. That old battleaxe had been the source of a veritable cornucopia of trauma for Adora as well, but Catra's beef with good ol' SW had an additional layer to it. An intersection. About her identity. </p><p>"What was it you said she always called you?" Adora asked, though why she thought that was a good question seemed beyond her. </p><p>"...Abomination," Catra's voice grew equal parts weak and addled with suppressed resentment as she brought her hands to the covers and squeezed in discomfort. </p><p>"Healing is a process. It takes time. She can't control you anymore, and I know you'll rise above this when you're ready," Adora sat back down on the bed and ran her hair through Catra's lengthy hair. The Lord Protector purred instinctively, feeling herself blush at the realization. </p><p>"If it takes time, why are you so good at it?" Catra asked, then looked away solemnly, "I'm sorry, that was rude. I didn't--" </p><p>"It's okay. I get it. I just had a head start is all." </p><p>"True." </p><p>Catra leaned into Adora's hand some more, her purring now so resonant it made Adora's hand vibrate ever so slightly. She looked so sweet in her pajamas, just this soft bean in baggy pants and a huge hoodie. Adora's hoodie. How could anyone, even someone as unanimously awful as Shadow Weaver, have ever considered someone this adorable--heh, Adora-ble--an "abomination"? Adora had never regarded her like that; it barely even occurred to her at all, even when they were younger. They'd be in the locker room after combat training or a ruck and Adora would just sort of think to herself "Oh, her parts are different from mine" and that was the end of it. She was still a girl to her. Her girl, no less. </p><p>"Why'd she do it? I don't understand," Adora asked, still stroking Catra's hair. </p><p>"Because she was a bigoted piece of post-human garbage?" Catra snarked. </p><p>"No, I mean if she hated what you were so much, why did she help you transition?" </p><p>"Because it was never about me. It was all nothing but some experiment to her," Catra sighed, "I'm glad her scientific curiosity outweighed her hatred somewhat, though." </p><p>"Yeah, me too. You gonna be okay? Can I bring you some coffee?" </p><p>"Coffee would hit the spot right about now. And yeah, I'm okay. I'm talking to my shrink about these dreams. We'll work it out." </p><p>"That's good. I'm proud of you." </p><p>"Thanks, babe. Glad you're in my corner," Catra moved Adora's hand off of her head and held onto it tight with her own calloused fingers, "Heading out for your run soon?" </p><p>"That's the plan. Figure I'd better savor it, too. The rest of my day is gonna be tackling a mountain of paperwork. I tell you, dude, the political side of this princess business sucks," Adora laughed as she slid into her preferred pair of jogging leggings. </p><p>"Eww, paperwork. I was gonna garden some more. Slow day over here." </p><p>"I can't get over how you're into gardening now..." </p><p>"Yeah, well, Perfuma said it was good for mental self care." </p><p>"Is it working?" </p><p>"<em> Maybe </em>?" Catra drawled with a mix of hesitancy and something approximating self-assurance. </p><p>Adora just laughed as she put the last touches on her workout clothes, losing her loose-fitting sleep shirt for a tank top that Catra had to admit made all of her muscles--the rigid abs, the toned arms that could scoop her up and sweep her off her feet like she was as light as a feather--look so much more amazing. It had been almost three years of this, three years of Princess Adora and Lord Protector Catra the EPG power couple, and it still felt like a dream (the good kind, not the Shadow Weaver being transphobic kind). How could this have happened? How did a scruffy, maverick mess like Catra end up getting the girl in the end? </p><p>"Right. Well, I'm gonna bring you your coffee, go for my run, and then drown myself in bureaucratic chaos. Hope you have fun with your strawberries, kitten!" Adora chirped as she headed out of the bedroom. </p><p>Kitten. It was a dumb pet name, and Adora continued to be a big dumbass with a big heart. If it was coming from anyone else, Catra would probably break their wrist. Not from Adora, though. From her, it was sweeter than any existing confection. Hearing it made her purr a little, in all honesty. </p><p>"Oh, wait!" Adora suddenly u-turned on her heel, "Splash of almond milk, no sugar, dark roast?" </p><p>Yep, that was Catra's coffee order down to the last detail. </p><p>"How are you going to run a government if you can't even remember what your girl takes in her coffee, you idiot?" Catra teased, "Yeah, you're right though." </p><p>"Knew it. And hey, I've got Glimmer, Bow and you to help me run this whole EPG thing. And the king, and all the rest of the old crew. Best Friends Squad, political edition!" Adora pumped her fist with a feigned enthusiasm. No, it wasn't feigned. That was genuine enthusiasm. </p><p>"Hell yeah," Catra smiled, "Bring me my bean juice, you dork." </p><p>"On it!" </p><p>Adora sauntered out, leaving Catra alone with her thoughts. Normally, a sentence like that would only precede disaster. Hardly anyone likes to be alone with their thoughts. Lately, though, Catra had been more comfortable in her own headspace. She had a beautiful custom built house with the woman she loved, with a garden out front and its own espresso machine. She balanced her days between self care, her new passions for gardening and baking, while society-at-large on Etheria (and beyond in the off world colonies) was beginning to rebuild and see its renaissance thanks to the EPG. And to top it all off, Adora was fan-fucking-tastic in bed. Literally everything she'd fantasized about. It was almost perfect. </p><p>Still, the Shadow Weaver dreams had made her confront some fairly uncomfortable thoughts in herself that she wished would just go away. She still remembered Hordak recounting the story of how they'd found her. Hordak had reported to Shadow Weaver that they'd recovered yet another orphan, one of many: a baby boy of some feline-humanoid race. Shadow Weaver scooped the child up and suddenly spat out that the child was in fact a girl, much to Hordak's confusion. When he asked her to elaborate, she said to call it a premonition and leave it at that. Time would reveal the premonition would come true; Catra had insisted she was a girl from a young age, and Shadow Weaver--being the knowledgeable old spellcaster she was--was happy to oblige. She'd always resented Catra for it, however, and the whole thing was again less of a favour and more of an experiment. It still left her feeling disgusted and dysphoric thinking about it, but she wasn't going to let it ruin her day. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder if the recurrence of these nightmares was a premonition of her own. </p><p>"Dark roast with almond for...Catarina?" Adora interrupted, knocking on the door with her free hand as the other held a steaming mug, "How'd I do?" </p><p>"Well, if the whole swordfighting-space-marine-slash-interplanetary-ruler career doesn't work out for you, I'd say you'd make a good barista. Right down to screwing up the names," Catra took the mug and brought Adora in to kiss her cheek, "Hope your run is good, babe." </p><p>"It usually is. Enjoy the coffee! Love you!" Adora kissed Catra back and then headed back out of the bedroom, towards the front door. </p><p><em> Every day with that girl is a gift, </em>Catra thought to herself. </p><p>The room was looking awfully pretty at this hour. The dawn had largely reached its apex, but the sunlight still looked damn near psychedelically beautiful as it reflected across the deep reds, lavish golds, milky whites and other accents of their room. The paint job was overindulgent and bougie as all hell, but Catra felt she’d earned the luxury after all the two of them had been through. Plus, they were kind of a major reason for why Etheria and the colonies were Horde free and getting their act together civilization-wise. The whole EPG thing was their operation. Partially, of course.</p><p>Catra sat there sipping her coffee for quite a bit, cross-legged and taking in as much of the morning sun as she could. This was almost part of the mental care for her. She’d attempted to meditate with Perfuma fairly regularly--their friendship being half because she was a self-care obsessed hippie and Catra was not, and half because of some shared solidarity over their mutual trans identity--but her attention span tripped her up pretty frequently. Most of the time she’d just doze off. To her, coffee in bed was close enough to meditation for her. Horde coffee had been dull, watery garbage, so every cup of the stuff from her and Adora’s machine was like some sort of rare delicacy. Coffee and sunlight would have to do for now. </p><p>Once she was finished that cup of creamy goodness, she looked longingly--was it longingly or more like contemplatively?--out the window for a bit, the light still coming through in energetic rays and the air not quite reaching its apex of humidity and warmth. It was almost in the sweet spot climate-wise, mixing warmth and breeze like perfect halves of a whole. Outside, the scene of people moving about the streets of Etheria in relative normalcy was almost surreal after the Horde war. People were talking, walking their dogs, mowing their lawns, having breakfast on their front stoops. Surreal as all hell. </p><p>She elected that a day like that was too precious to not make hay while the sun literally shone. Or strawberries, in her case. Catra headed to the bathroom--trying not to look in the mirror the whole time, not wanting to trigger anything dysphoric from earlier--and showered for probably a bit too long, put her hair in the messiest ponytail in existence, and got dressed into a blue flannel and the same beat-up overalls she'd been using for gardening since they moved in. The outfit was perfect not only for being amidst dirt for prolonged periods of time, but also for maintaining a low profile. The next person to come up to her on the street and gush about how much of an honor it was to meet the Lord Protector was going to get...well, probably a very stern talking to in all honesty, since physically harming a pedestrian would be horribly bad optics. At least, that was what everyone told her the last time it happened. </p><p>Heading downstairs, she noticed the weather had gotten a bit harsher judging by the change in the sun from gentle to kind of overwhelming. </p><p><em> I should probably get some water, </em> she thought, <em> elsewise I might sweat to death.  </em></p><p>Once Catra had kitted herself out with her water bottle--it was easy to tell apart from Adora's since her's was just an old metal canteen from her days fighting the Horde--she was pretty much all set. The tools would likely be in the backyard shed right where she left them, and she tended not to sunburn easily so a hat was probably unnecessary. Thus, without further ado, she stepped outside to go cultivate her little personal paradise. Her and Adora's personal paradise, that is. </p><p> </p><p>"Damn, these turned out nice. You've outdone yourself, madam Lord Protector…" Catra mumbled to herself as she trimmed a branch off of her solitary strawberry shrub. </p><p>The garden itself was a bit small so far. Catra hadn't really gotten into it as a hobby until maybe three or four months ago, thus her collection was a little on the modest side. There were a couple of flowers that had been planted when Adora and her first moved in--and she had been careful to water and cultivate those as best as she could, of course--but beyond this solitary bush, the whole thing was basically a work in progress. Of course, that suited Catra just fine; had to start somewhere, and start small. Partially because that was generally the best way to go with a new skill and partially Catra was a bit lazy by nature. It was an arrangement she was content with. </p><p>The berries looked a bit like they were trending towards ripeness, though Catra was still not so great at figuring that out. One time there was a berry that she <em> thought </em>was in the ripened ballpark which she offered to Adora, but when she bit into it it supposedly tasted like 'faintly strawberry-flavoured shoe leather'. Adora's words, not Catra's. Growing fruit called for a different set of skills than being a soldier. Technically she was doing both, though the whole Lord Protector thing was mostly a ceremonial title. On Earth-That-Was, the Lord Protector was the head of state when the king was unable to rule; here, Catra was more something of Adora's tactical assistant and bodyguard (though a hardass Amazon like her hardly needed guarding), not really wresting control from her but rather supporting her. It was kind of perfect and complimentary that way. </p><p>"Nice day for it, isn't it?" </p><p>Her attention drew away from the bush and towards the direction of a voice she didn't recognize. Her tail perked up and then crooked in anticipation, and her eyes moved from the bush to the voice's source. An older man, probably from the local region (that is to say he didn't have scorpion claws or fins or anything), was standing on the adjacent sidewalk in a fairly casual shirt with the logo of a band she didn't recognize complimented by shorts that looked like they were trying to be pants. She surmised this was just how this neighbourhood was, but she was still not really used to being approached out of the blue by random strangers to chat. Her fur ruffled ever so slightly in consequence. </p><p>"Uh, yeah, sure it is," she said, smiling awkwardly and reaching back for the bush, "Do you want to try one? I think they're ready but I'm kinda new at this and--" </p><p>And that's when it happened. The thing that <em> always </em>happened. The dude got this weird twinkle in his eyes and just gaped for a good solid few minutes while she sat there awkwardly. Subsequently, he doubled over into a wide bow. A sinewy arm came across his chest while the other sat at his side. The whole time, Catra had to hold back an eye roll and a groan of disappointment. This again? Really? </p><p>"Uh, forgive me Lord Protector, I didn't realize it was you," the guy said. To his credit, he was far less over the top with his grovelling. </p><p>"At ease, citizen," Catra waved her hand at the stranger, though what she really wanted to say was <em> oh my god dude shut the fuck up, </em>"What's up?" </p><p>The man laughed, then quickly readjusted his stance and stood up from his bow. The thick-rimmed glasses topping his lump of a nose almost fell off and broke on the pavement, but he caught them in time. </p><p>"Staying with my kids for a bit. I thought I'd go for a walk, get a feel for their neighborhood. I had no idea they lived near you, of course," the man explained. Catra didn't see the same giddiness in this guy. He seemed a little less eager to deify her or Adora just because of their past and their famous positioning currently. It wasn't exactly making her want to invite him in for pleasantries or anything, but it was a token she could respect. </p><p>"Well, here we are," Catra said with a shrug, though her first instinct was to just say <em> good. </em> </p><p>"I take it this means the Princess of Power lives here, too? The legendary hero She-Ra? Or, I guess I should just say Adora," the man asked. </p><p>"That's absolutely right," Catra explained, though she was hesitant to add <em> and she's also my girlfriend! My strong, beautiful girlfriend who I love so much and I still have no idea how I got her!  </em></p><p>"Wow. Well, thank you for your service. Both of you," the man scratched his head nervously, "I'm sorry. You've probably guessed I'm not from around here." </p><p>"Yeah? Where you from?" Catra asked, eyes temporarily leaving conversation to work on the shrub some more. She'd probably scoop whatever berries were on the overgrown stick bits and use them in something. Preserves? Maybe she'd learn how to make preserves.</p><p>"Station 12." </p><p>"Jesus, that's four hours away. What did you come all the way up here for?" Catra also found herself thinking <em> please say it wasn't to stalk us.  </em></p><p>"To visit my kids, and of course my grandkids. I ended up out here for longer than I planned, on account of the bombing." </p><p>"Excuse me, <em> the what?" </em> Catra was mortified. That definitely sounded like this guy was talking about a <em> bombing </em>. Assuming they weren't closing roads over a movie review site getting spammed, that sounded a bit like he was indeed referring to an event where a large quantity of explosives detonate and kill or maim people. </p><p>"Yes ma'am. You heard me right. Roads between here and Station 12 were the sight of some kind of bombing. You haven't seen the news, Lord Protector?"</p><p>"I'm off duty. It's just Catra, dude," she paused, debating whether he was lying and was just listening to clickbait or if there had <em> genuinely </em>been a bombing and she just hadn't heard about it, "No, I didn't know." </p><p>"Hmm. Don't how you couldn't. It's been all over every news outlet from the papers to the telescreens. I'm Harper, by the way," the man held his hand out to be shaken (presumably anyway), which Catra took hold of and shook gingerly. </p><p>"Do you want to try some of these, Harper?" She gestured at the shrub. </p><p>"Uh, sure! If you're offering! Can I take some home with me for the family?" Harper asked. </p><p>"I guess, assuming you can carry them. I'd ask you to maybe don't tell them who gave them to you specifically, though." </p><p>"I get that," Harper nodded as he bent down to pick a few strawberries, "Being famous isn't an excuse for people to disrespect your privacy. Don't worry." </p><p>"Thanks for that, man." </p><p>"No problem," he nibbled a berry, keeping the rest in his hand, "You did good on these. Dunno if they're completely ready yet, though." </p><p><em> Dammit, again? Seriously? </em> Catra thought to herself, <em> Well, one day I'll get the hang of this.  </em></p><p>"I gotta get going. I wish you two the best, and thanks again for your service," Harper said. </p><p>"No need to thank me, Harper," she returned to the shrub. </p><p>He was better than most wild-eyed civilians, that was for certain. <em> Being famous isn't an excuse for people to disrespect your privacy </em>. The acknowledgement there was good. Still, though, everyone had this tendency to go on about 'thank you for your service' this and 'you're heroes' that. Some of them even asked if they'd ever killed anyone, as if that was in any way appropriate. It seemed as if a quiet life for her and her lover was out of the question now thanks to all of this political nonsense. The past just wouldn't let go to add insult to injury. And what was all this about a bombing? </p><p>"Look at you go! The berries look great," the voice that snuck up on her this time was unmistakable. </p><p>Adora was back from her run and Catra immediately couldn't focus on anything but her. She perked up, not out of suspicion but instead out of excitement this time. She'd spent a whole war holding back what she felt for this girl, <em> her </em>girl, and now it was all flooding out and making everything else turn into nonsense. Adora may have been sweaty, red in the face and mostly likely smelling like a locker room, but despite it she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to Catra. Again, this whole situation felt like a dream. </p><p>"They still need more time before we can do anything with 'em. Think I'll put these extras in the fridge, though," she said as she dropped her tools and stood up. </p><p>The two of them embraced for a moment, Catra dressed like a butch farmhand and covered in dirt while Adora looked and smelled like a one-woman rugby team. Her arms felt so strong against her, and before Catra knew it she was instinctively purring again. Some people got butterflies in their stomachs around their significant others, and she got purrs. The kiss that followed, however brief, was still something to be savored. The softness and warmth of Adora's lips left her practically breathless, and that was after a mere five-second peck. </p><p>"You know what you could do?" Adora asked, her face leaning in near Catra's impressively sized ears. The request sounded so dangerous and sensual that her expectations got fairly high. Her fur pricked up in places and she felt her tail quiver slightly. And then it went in the complete opposite direction. Well, kind of. </p><p>"You should bring me a pizza so that my afternoon of desk work isn't a total slog!" Adora suggested, doing that stupid smile she tended towards where she looked simultaneously smug and like she had two remaining brain cells. </p><p>Catra giggled a bit at this request, only partially because of Adora's oddly touchy-feely opener. <em> You whisper in my ear in your sexy voice and then ask me for pizza, </em> she thought, <em> never change, you ridiculous, huge-armed lady.  </em></p><p>"What? I don't get it," Adora asked, cocking her head to one side in confusion. Her arms were wrapped around Catra's neck and shoulders, hands meeting behind her head rather lovingly. </p><p>"Oh, it's nothing," Catra said between laughs. </p><p>"Come on," Adora flashed the smug face again, "I'll let you have some." </p><p>"Well, I mean, sure. Yeah. Sounds great. I'm just enjoying the witty irony of the fact that you're asking for pizza right after a workout. Like, you don't find that timing the <em> slightest </em> bit perfect?" </p><p>"It's a cheat day," Adora's face remained unchanged. </p><p>"You seem to have cheat days a lot," Catra joked. </p><p>"Because I like to eat." </p><p>"You're such an idiot." </p><p>"Haha, you love me." </p><p>They shared another quick kiss, their sweetness mingling for another perfect moment. <em> God, I could do this forever, </em>Catra thought to herself. </p><p>"From the new place up the road, same as usual?" Catra asked. It was a recent addition to the neighbourhood, but was still quickly becoming a favourite. The last time Bow was up, he remarked that the wings were probably not only the best in the whole Station but perhaps the whole vicinity of Bright Moon. High praise. </p><p>"You know it!" Adora nodded. </p><p>"Can I get pineapple on one half?" </p><p>"Pineapple on pizza is a travesty." </p><p>"No it's not! It's delicious!" Catra yelped with feigned anger. Well, mostly feigned. </p><p>"It's disgusting. I'd rather eat Horde ration bars." </p><p>"That is completely wrong! And harsh!" </p><p>"I'm just saying, Catra. Why would anyone put a fruit on pizza? That's gross. It's like if I put bananas on pizza." </p><p>"A fruit? Oh for…" Catra put her palm to her face and groaned, clearly utterly disappointed, "There's already fruit on pizza, you stupid lesbian! The sauce is made of tomatoes! So unless you're one of those weirdos who orders, I dunno, fucking <em> barbecue sauce </em>or some stupid shit on their pizza, news flash! You've been eating fruit on pizza this whole time!" </p><p>There was a brief pause. Catra of course knew this was all meant in jest, a ribbing between the two lovers over a minor (however controversial) preference discrepancy. Adora was staring straight at her, a tiny smirk on her face. The look seemed to say <em> I admire your dedication to this bit, but you're still wrong </em>. It may have also just been a bit of an indication that she was cringing internally at the fact that Catra was out here yelling about pineapple on pizza. Admittedly, within that context, the situation was a lot more pleasant than the screaming matches the two had historically enacted. </p><p>"Tomatoes aren't fruits, stupid. They taste too funny to be fruits," Adora said with a stunted, snorting laugh. </p><p>"Oh, forget it," Catra growled, then proceeded to pull Adora in to kiss her a <em> third </em>time. </p><p>It felt a little like the first time they kissed in a way. Pulling her in, relieving that pent up frustration (though last time that was a whole war's worth of baggage, here it was just a mildly infuriating debate about pizza toppings). She didn't get many windows to take charge like that, though admittedly she liked it like that. Like, a lot. Her girlfriend was an almost seven foot tall space marine who could sling a sword at a Horde soldier like a hot knife through butter, or at least <em> could be </em>with the help of some eldritch First Ones tech. She could carry Catra with one arm like it was nothing. Even if she was a bit feisty, Catra was utterly hers for the taking more often than not. </p><p>"Okay. You can get whatever you want on your half, on one condition," Adora broke the kiss off softly, her face actually <em> blushing </em>--that basically never happened--as she put her index finger to Catra's nose and let it run down to her chin gently, "You finish the whole thing. I don't want any of your garbage pizza." </p><p>Catra scoffed, rolling her eyes and throwing her shoulders back in a gesture that basically all but literally announced <em> you underestimate my power!  </em></p><p>"That is literally not a problem. I've been in the sun tending to my child here for a good hour and a half. And...hmm...I skipped breakfast, come to think of it. Rest assured, your delicate and unrefined palette will remain unscathed," she explained as she started to walk away, gesturing with awkward finger guns as she went. </p><p>"Did you just call your strawberry bush your child? Nevermind, I don't want to know," Adora looked puzzled, "Anyway, in English, kitten?" </p><p>That nickname's utterance gave her chills as always, though she wouldn't let Adora know that if her life depended on it. Ugh, kitten. It was too cute. Cliched and pretty darn unimaginative, but cute. Maybe the cliche was what made it cute. </p><p>"I'm gonna inhale half a pizza and you have shit taste. That work for you?" She asked mockingly. It was all a joke, of course. </p><p>"Crystal clear. And since when is pepperoni with mushrooms shit taste?" </p><p>"Touche," Catra was kind of glad she goaded that tidbit out of Adora, because up until that point she didn't really have any idea as to what her girlfriend wanted on this pizza. It hearkened back to a darker moment two years ago, during the Horde war. <em> What do you want, Adora? </em>It was nice that the same question was coming up under more lighthearted circumstances. Pepperoni and mushrooms sounded pretty good, actually. </p><p>"Well, I'd better head inside and let you go. The longer I put off all these forms, the harder it'll get to do them," Adora looked at her feet with a look of suppressed horror at the tyranny of bureaucracy before looking back at Catra with that sweet smile only she could wear, the one that made Catra simultaneously melt and quiver at once, "Love you, kitten." </p><p>"Love you too, idiot," Catra called behind her as she kept walking off to go get lunch, beginning to feel a bit of a pang of regret over her choice of attire as the afternoon weather heated up. </p><p>She knew Adora had work to do. She knew she had work to do as well, albeit simply bringing her girlfriend lunch. But she had such trouble dragging her eyes away from Adora. She didn't want to look away from that girl--her girl--and her formidable body and her beautiful robin-egg eyes and her opulently golden hair. Catra watched as her lover became a distant speck and vanished into the house, her eyes ahead and on her path but looking back intently every now and then, and found herself cursing herself for all those wasted years of warfare against her lovely Adora. Even if she thought pineapple didn't go on pizza. </p><p> </p><p>By the time Catra had gotten to the pizza place, the sun had thoroughly flame-broiled her; at this point, she was probably about as sweaty as Adora had been. The heat was bad enough that she could've probably fried multiple eggs on the sidewalk. The heat in the pizza place, though, oh boy...it was not in the slightest bit better. Presumably, the ovens were what was responsible for turning the whole restaurant into a giant furnace; ovens and fryers, of course. There had to be fryers involved. The air was so thick with grease it was almost a solid, like wading through a veritable mustard gas cloud of fry oil. <em> Might need to break out the ol' respirator unit from my Horde days, </em>Catra thought, her nostrils assaulted with the scents of deep fried stuff and pizza ovens. She was already sensitive to smells, but here it was so overwhelming that there was hardly anything to be sensitive to.</p><p>She still managed to place an order amidst the swelter. Of course, the teenager behind the counter--a lanky fellow with an unkempt mop, not at all dissimilar to Kyle--was awestruck that the Lord Protector was gracing the establishment. There was another round of thanking her for her service, inquiries into how She-Ra was doing, and when her order was ready the kid just said it was on the house. Catra internally felt like screaming the whole time, though admittedly using her position to get free food was pretty fucking rad. She thanked the kid awkwardly and then walked out with one large pizza--half pepperoni and mushrooms, half Hawaiian--and two garlic sauce packets. She figured if it was all on the house, she may as well splurge and get dipping sauce. </p><p>The walk back was somehow refreshing. It was still hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk, yes, but the air wasn't as heavy with grease and a light breeze had kicked up. The wind blew the scent of her food back at her, which was pretty cool. She was almost tempted to just take a seat on the curb and get tucked in already. Besides, it wasn't like Adora was going to want any of the pineapple side anyway. However, her etiquette (hah, now there were two words she never thought she would be putting together) won out in the end and she decided that she wouldn't get any pizza until Adora could have some too. </p><p>Walking home was, as always, a small joy amongst the sea of small joy that was Catra's new life. Everywhere, she saw Etherian society rebuilding and flourishing in the new normal of the EPG's benevolent rule. After the defeat of Horde Prime, the "Best Friends Squad"--Adora, Bow, Glimmer, and herself--had launched a massive planet-wide effort to terraform Etheria using its magic and rebuild the planet's infrastructure with tech based on the First Ones and the Horde. The Etherian Provisional Government was born from this initiative, and its sights were currently turned towards expansion off-world. Rebuilding everything Prime destroyed was an interplanetary affair. </p><p>People were going in and out of shops, having honest conversations, eating ice cream in parks. Just enjoying life, enjoying a return to normalcy. The two--almost three--years since the EPG formed, Etheria was terraformed, and most importantly Adora and Catra became an official item were the longest period without conflict in recorded Etherian history. Not since the First Ones, and their forefathers from Earth-That-Was before them, had the planet seen such global unity. It seemed almost too good to be true to Catra. Just a little while ago, she had been the misguided Force Captain of a genocidal theocracy's storm troopers; today, she was bringing her girlfriend a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza. </p><p>Coming up the front steps to her and Adora's place was like the cherry on top of the completely mind-fucking sundae that was modern life. This house that mixed about three different cultural design sensibilities from three different eras, had multiple flower arrangements and a strawberry plant--Catra's strawberry plant--out front, and to top it all off was shared with her <em> girlfriend </em> and former arch-foe. She hadn't tripped this hard since she and Scorpia found some of Perfuma's weed, and that stuff was so potent you could probably fold space whilst smoking it. That was a good time, or was until their respective significant others got home and found them passed out on the lawn. </p><p>"Babe!" Catra called as she came in the front door, the stubby corridor stretching out ahead branching into their living room, basement stairs and first-floor bathroom, "I have returned, and I come bearing pizza!" </p><p>"Awesome! I'm in the study! Bring it here!" Adora called back, her voice disembodied and muffled by distance despite sound still carrying quite well in the house. </p><p>Adora's study was the sole curated feature of their basement, besides a vast open space with a hard wood floor and a laundry room. Ever since they moved in, they hadn't really figured out what to do with the basement. Perhaps if Melog was still with Catra, she could've decorated the area with some cat toys and a bed, but he was...absent. Thus, the space was host to little more than some boxes loaded with old sentimental junk. Which was an odd contrast with Adora's study, which was anything but sparse. </p><p>Catra hopped down the basement steps, and from there the study was but a few paces. As she opened the door, the smell of musty tomes and oxidized First Ones salvage hit her like a brick wall. The smells were bittersweet, nostalgic and triggering all at once. They recalled the period of wonder that followed the terraforming, but they also recalled the horrors of the Horde war's final hours. At least her and Adora's union was borne of that historical moment. Books and relics lined the walls along with various photos of dig sites, construction sites, and spontaneous group selfies of the Best Friends Squad. Adora sat at the centre of the floor amidst a hurricane of government forms and writing utensils, clutching a laptop. As soon as Catra entered and shut the door behind her, Adora's eyes darted from the screen to her lover and she smiled so wide it looked painful. Catra couldn't tell if that was because she was happy to see her girlfriend or if she was happy to have pizza, though. </p><p>"That smells so good! Thanks, kitten. You're a lifesaver," Adora said as Catra passed her the warm, greasy cardboard and its tasty contents. </p><p>"Guess that's twice I've saved your ass, then," Catra joked, though on second thought perhaps cracking wise about the Horde war was a bit of an unhealthy coping mechanism. </p><p>"It's an ass worth saving," Adora said as she put the pizza box on the ground next to her stack of papers. </p><p>Catra squeezed in beside her on the floor and leaned in to peck her cheek. </p><p>"Damn straight. You've got world class hindquarters, babe," Catra teased Adora's lower back, gently rubbing the area above her butt but not quite grabbing it, "Want me to go get us some plates, or…?" </p><p>"You can, but I'm not waiting for them," Adora was already halfway through opening the pizza box. </p><p>"Yeah, I was kinda hoping you'd say that," Catra slid a hand into the pizza box and grabbed a pineapple slice. Tracking crumbs into the study and potentially attracting mice and spiders was a problem for future Catra. She was fucking hungry. </p><p>The screen on Adora's laptop was pretty unremarkable. Catra wasn't super sure why she was even looking, but she still just enjoyed being invested in what Adora was doing. Professionally, leisurely...<em> intimately </em>, Catra was always eager to get behind whatever thing her lover was doing and cheer from the sidelines. This was just some EPG website, though. Frankly, at that distance, Catra couldn't even tell what she was looking at. </p><p>"How's it going so far?" Catra mumbled through a mouthful of pizza. It was tangy and sweet and smokey and Adora's anti-pineapple hypothesis was <em> bullfrickinhorseshit </em>. </p><p>"Swallow first," Adora said, also eating but surprisingly more coherent. </p><p>Catra resisted the urge to make a dirty joke--self-restraint was a thing she was working on--and finished her rather substantial bite. After swallowing, she tried again, as per Adora's request. </p><p>"How. Is. It. Going. So. Far?" Catra snarked as she drawled every word out individually. </p><p>Adora held a smile for a bit as she continued to munch at her own slice--the mushrooms and pepperoni actually looking really good--but it looked extraordinarily strained. Whatever temporary culinary bliss the pizza was bringing her seemed vastly outweighed by work stress. At least, that was how it looked. She gestured a weak thumbs up and the smile she held twitched, along with the corner of one of her eyelids. </p><p>"You're getting wrecked, aren't you?" Catra asked with an eyebrow raised. </p><p>"<em> Yes! </em> I'm almost done, but like, this whole thing has been so draining! It's all just a bunch of legalese and angry letters from people. I don't know what half of it means. I'm a soldier, not a bureaucrat," Adora fell back on the carpet and groaned, knocking over a nearby stack of papers and dropping her half-eaten pizza slice on her chest crust side down. </p><p>Catra brought her hand to Adora's in an effort to comfort her. A smile that wasn't quite as strained graced Adora's face and she held onto Catra's hand tight. She used her remaining hand to grab a form close to her face. Catra could tell by the wariness reflected in the blue pools of Adora's eyes that something on that particular form had piqued her interest. Frankly, if how Adora was describing this paperwork was true, Catra couldn't fathom how any of it could be interesting. Regardless, Adora sat up, looked the sheet over while her eyes darted between paper and computer screen, and then made a kind of quizzical "oh" sound as her eyes lit up with something between wonder and terror. </p><p>"What? What's 'oh'?" Catra asked, "Also, if you're not gonna finish that, can I have it?" </p><p>"Stick to your weird fruit pizza, Catra," Adora joked, though her face remained serious and her eyes didn’t leave her work, “That’s weird. Most of these crime reports have been petty misdemeanors, but the code on this one is completely different. If I’m doing this right--and I could be a little bit off, because our web design department at the EPG clearly isn’t the brightest--this report is on a <em> bombing. </em>I haven’t read all the details yet but...yeah.” </p><p>A bombing. Before, Catra had been a bit skeptical about Harper’s talk of bombings, merely dismissing it as gossip amongst people with not a ton to actually worry about. Lots of fake news out there on the Etherinet, after all, and people would believe just about anything these days. How could they not? The planet endured an invasion by a megalomaniacal space pope-slash-dictator and an army of his chosen zealots, who were literally just vat-grown mini versions of himself. The galaxy was a fucking weird place. Catra might not have been a big book reader, but she was remembering a quote from an Earth-That-Was author: space is big, really really big. Anywho, rumors were one thing; a government paper was another. This was happening. </p><p>“On the roads between Station 9 and Station 12?” Catra asked. </p><p>Adora looked at Catra with confusion, then darted back to the paper. She perused it for a couple of minutes, munching the remainder of her pizza in what was perhaps an attempt to calm down, and then looked back at Catra with wide, knowing eyes. <em> Worried </em>eyes. Adora hadn’t looked at her like that in many years. Around two to three, to be precise. This wasn’t Adora being sweet and concerned about Catra’s mental health as she recovered from her grab-bag of dysphoria, childhood trauma, fascist brainwashing and good ol’ fashioned shell shock; this was Adora faced with a sizable external threat. </p><p>“Yeah. How’d you know?” Adora asked. </p><p>“Some old dude mentioned it. Passed by the house and said hi while I was gardening,” Catra explained, gently putting a hand against the back of Adora’s neck in an effort to calm her down. </p><p>“Ah. Well then. Good neighbours keep other neighbours informed about terrorist attacks, I guess. Goddamn, Catra. Why would anyone even do something like that?” she sighed, finished her pizza (she ate the crust and everything sans dipping sauce, something she typically didn’t do), and grabbed a pen off the floor, “I’ll just sign off on this and put it with the rest, I guess. Still, I just can’t even understand.” </p><p>“Bad stuff happens, babe. Can’t explain it all,” Catra let her hand drift between Adora’s neck and the small of her back, still trying to get her to relax as best she could, “Besides, it might all be bullshit anyway. Watch us send a detachment to investigate it and it turns out it was all just a gas leak or something.” </p><p>Adora reached behind her and moved Catra’s hand--and the rest of her arm--around her shoulder. She held onto her lover’s hand tight, her eyes still in a never-ending loop of looking at the page and the website. Catra felt her eyes wander and creep both the page and the website, the latter of which looked like some sort of answer key for EPG criminal offense designations (which of course made sense). After a few inspections, the numbers didn’t lie. The roadside bombing was real. It seemed like even with the Horde vanquished, people were still going to find ways to be pointlessly cruel. That is, assuming this had intent behind it. </p><p>“We’ll look into it,” Adora said solemnly, then put her free hand to her forehead and took a deep, mindful breath; she was grounding, “Well, in the meantime, I’d better work through the rest of this. Only a couple more signatures.” </p><p>Catra smiled, happy to see Adora on track again. The bombing was still tickling at her like a splinter in her mind, but she knew there wasn’t much to be done about it at the moment. Even once an investigation got underway, it’d probably just get exposed as a random attack by some crazed bandits or something; the usual brigand violence in the frontier roads between Stations, out in the cataracts of society where the Royal Army couldn’t wiggle in. Pity it had to be that way even after years of rebuilding. </p><p>“There’s dipping sauce in the box if you want it. I know you hate crusts without it,” Catra said, trying to change the subject ever-so-gently. It wasn’t like Adora wasn’t already trying to carry that process out herself. </p><p>“Hell yes. I am indeed a dipping sauce bitch. I’m guessing it’s the garlic mayo stuff?” Adora asked. </p><p>"Aioli." </p><p>"Gesundheit?" </p><p>"No, I mean the word you're looking for is Aioli. It's the name for that garlic mayo stuff." </p><p>"Ah, well then. What a shame we can't all be pretentious foodies like you, kitten." </p><p>"Just for saying that, I'm gonna go on and on about umami flavor the next time we go out for dinner with the Squad," Catra faked an exaggerated scoff and then kissed Adora's forehead, "Nah. Enjoy, babe." </p><p>"Indeed I shall, kitten, indeed I shall. Got anything else exciting planned today? Gonna go tend to your 'child' some more?" Adora asked. </p><p>Catra laughed nervously. She was getting pretty attached to that little shrub. </p><p>"Think I've done enough for one day. I'm probably just gonna chill, do some exercises. Maybe have more coffee," Catra explained as she looked at the door. </p><p>"<em> More </em>coffee? Oof. You're tempting me to go get some," Adora pinched her forehead, scrunching her eyes, "Think I might have a bath later, too." </p><p>"A bath sounds nice," Catra flashed a suggestive grin at Adora, "You want some company?" </p><p>Adora's eyes widened significantly, face frozen in surprise. Clearly it was an enticing offer. But then she laughed dryly and sighed. </p><p>"Honey, I would usually say yes, but I am <em> fried. </em>It won't be a sexy bath, unless you get off on your girlfriend dozing off halfway through," Adora explained, her voice indeed sounding tired. And, well, Catra couldn't say she was all that surprised. Just a cursory look at that numbing EPG website or any of the forms littering the floor was enough to put her to sleep. </p><p>"We'll just cuddle, then," Catra smiled, understanding. </p><p>"Thanks, Catra. I'd like that." </p><p>"Should I leave you to finish up, then?" </p><p>"Yeah, might be best. It's gonna be pretty boring in here. You're welcome to more pizza before you go, though." </p><p>Catra was happy to indulge that particular offer. She had a couple more slices while cuddling her girl in relative silence, Adora occasionally cursing in frustration whenever she'd get the coding on a form wrong or making a mistake filling it out. Catra was also fairly careful to ignore the dipping sauce since it was kind of a favourite of Adora's, though admittedly she missed stealing all the leftover crusts. Once she wrapped with that, she ran upstairs and retrieved a handful of glass containers to pack up the leftovers. She handled that task handily, stole a kiss from Adora--her lips were like heroin for Catra--and headed upstairs to go chill for a bit. </p><p>After putting the leftovers away, Catra looked at the clock on the stove and surmised that since it was well past noon, she would either have to skip coffee number two or be up all night. She went with the former. Sleep was already kind of a precious resource for her, and her nightmares kept making it tumultuous; best not to inflame the problem further. Instead, she went back to the bedroom, changed out of her gardening overalls and threw on some slightly more breathable shorts (it got very hot very fast, and wading through grease-gas at the pizza joint most certainly did not help in those matters), and did a bit of calisthenics and yoga for twenty minutes. The former was a mosaic of drills she'd picked up from the Horde and later the Royal Army, while the latter was a little something from hanging with Perfuma. She felt a bit more invigorated by the time she was done. No coffee required. </p><p>The rest of the day was fairly quiet. With the way news of the bombing between Stations 9 and 12 snuck up on them, the lull seemed so paradoxical. Unjust, even. Still, the ensuing days were seemingly cut out to be quite gentle. In a little less than a week, Catra and Adora had plans to go bar hopping with Scorpia and Perfuma, and three days after that was the big VE Day party; naturally, this party also acted as a celebration of the Princess and the Lord Protector's three year anniversary, though this was more at the personal level between them and their friends. Thus, things were set to be very, very slow, and then suddenly get very, very fast. That didn't bother Catra, though. </p><p>She fell back onto the bed and took a deep breath and she stared at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan revolve and cool the room with placid futility. She felt at ease with her body and like she'd hauled herself away from the old, dysphoric wounds that reopened with every recurring nightmare. Today wasn't quite close to being over, but she felt strongly like she'd turned it around. There was a certain amount of quiet contemplation in her as she tried to figure out just what the hell she was going to do with the rest of the day, but she felt like generally speaking it was so far so good. She even did a random act of kindness for a stranger. </p><p>The fact that she'd managed to eat three slices of pizza and then vigorously exercise for twenty minutes was just now catching up with her. Her stomach was beginning to feel a bit like she'd swallowed a bowling ball. Consequently, she really was feeling like she leaned more on the side of no more movement at all. Catra cursed herself internally for beginning to drift while it was barely even 2:30, but it was happening. She was feeling pretty darn sleepy, and this bed was like a temple for all things comfy. Before she could even fight it she was out cold, and this time her sleep was blissfully dreamless. </p><p> </p><p>Catra awoke at some nebulous time later--falling asleep during the day often had that odd disorienting effect--to find the color of the room deepened. The light coming in was almost carmine now, and it was clearly much later. She had some vague recollections of hearing a door open somewhere, which may have been what woke her up. Catra guessed it was Adora having her bath. It might've also just been her leaving the study, but the sound felt too close by to be in the basement.</p><p>She got her answer when she saw her lover, platinum hair down and over her shoulders elegantly, come into the room wearing nothing but a towel. It was a plain, dull off-white thing, perhaps taken from a set that was a housewarming gift. It had been too long for her to really remember. What mattered is she looked almost ethereal in the darkening reddish glow of the evening, looking even more like a goddess than she did that morning. The way she moved over to the bed looked to Catra's sleepy eyes almost spectral, and as she looked down at Catra with those lovely eyes of hers all Catra could think was <em> I am so in love with you.  </em></p><p>"Catra? You in there, kitten?" Adora asked, barely above a whisper. </p><p>Catra really wanted to say how pretty she thought Adora was right now. How the sunset was making her look like the reincarnation of some old Earth-That-Was warrior queen, how her hair looked absolutely stunning when it was down, how Catra was tempted to yank away that stupid towel and throw her on the bed (no small feat, she was hard to knock down). Alas, she was still quite sleepy. What emerged from her mouth was not even in the same ballpark of eloquence as where her mind went. </p><p>"Mmmmphhhmmm. Hey, Adora," Catra gurgled. </p><p>"What happened to you, anyway? You looked so comfy when I got up here to have my bath. Hope I didn't disturb you," Adora bent and lay down beside Catra, putting a hand on her cheek. Naturally, the purring started. </p><p>"S'alright. Exercised a bunch and then went into a food coma. Make sense?" Catra explained, voice still a little on the groggy side. Her purring probably did no favors for her legibility either. </p><p>"You had like three slices! How were you even able to work out?" </p><p>"Luck?" </p><p>"You're an idiot." </p><p>"That's my line." </p><p>Adora laughed and snuggled in slightly closer. Their noses were almost touching, looking into each other's eyes in a gesture that was sweet in a very cliched and picturesque way. Catra was glad to see Adora free of her paper shackles and thoroughly refreshed, especially since it meant they got to cuddle now. </p><p>"How long have I been out for, anyway?" Catra asked. </p><p>"It's 7 now, I think." </p><p>"Damn. Last I remember it was 2:30." </p><p>"Out cold, huh?" Adora laughed again, this time a bit more dryly, "Did you want dinner? I kind of just reheated leftovers from a couple nights ago. I left enough for you."</p><p>"I might, but I think I'm okay for now. How was work? Thought you said you were almost done when I brought you lunch." </p><p>"Aha, that's what I thought! The worst was yet to come, though. There were so many documents towards the bottom of the pile that were just page after page of boring crap. Lot of letters from crazies, too. Can you believe there are people who <em> miss </em>the Horde?" The heat was tangible in Adora's voice; Catra didn't blame her, and the thought of Horde sympathizers running around brought her visceral disgust. </p><p>"Nope. That's bullshit." </p><p>"You'd think! Those letters, though...ugh. As if that wasn't bad enough, the website kept crashing and I had to spend like an hour doing nothing because I couldn't decode shit properly. After that, I wasn't taking chances. I copied out all the codings--" </p><p>"Wait wait wait. Hold up. <em> All </em> of them? You copied out <em> all </em>of the codings from this government website? This bigass database of EPG encryptions, and you just...wrote that all out by hand?" </p><p>"Yes, and my wrist is still killing me!" </p><p>"Why do I find that kind of hot?" </p><p>"You shouldn't," Adora was laughing again but it was <em> far </em>less restrained this time, almost drawing tears in the corners of her eyes, "Let's just stop talking about this. I can feel more of my brain cells dying just thinking about it." </p><p>"No argument from me. You feeling okay, babe?" Catra asked. The frustration in Adora's voice, body language, all of it, was obvious; she felt a bit like she'd already answered her own question. </p><p>"Feeling better now that all that pencil pushing is done. Don't think I'm ever going to get used to being Princess of Paperwork…" Adora brought Catra in closer, lying in a tight embrace with the Lord Protector's face resting near her neck, "Being here with you helps. Having a bath helped. I'm still pretty zoned out, though. Glimmer can do her own damn forms next time." </p><p>"Yeah, alright! Stand up for yourself!" Catra cheered with about as much enthusiasm as a class who just found out they were getting a surprise test. Admittedly, it was good to see Adora working on her people-pleasing habit, though Catra knew full well the statement was meant in jest and Adora was likely going to have to pull her political weight in the EPG regardless of her wishes. They'd had their time in the teeth, now they were in the tail; in some ways, that was preferable. </p><p>"Yeah, well, I've got some conversation topics for VE Day now at least. That's coming up fast, huh?" Adora asked in reflection. </p><p>"Mhm. Somethin' else is coming, too." </p><p>"What would that be?" </p><p>"Our anniversary, idiot. Same day," Catra cuddled in more, kissing Adora's neck playfully. She wasn't surprised Adora forgot, considering how tired both of them were at the moment. </p><p>"Oh, yeah. Jesus, I'm sorry. I think a <em> third </em> of what I signed today was VE Day related and I--" </p><p>Catra cut her off by continuing to kiss her neck, the pauses between each gentle peck becoming shorter and shorter with each. She made a soft 'shhhh' noise and maintained the kiss attack, Adora giggling and even moaning occasionally all the while. Once she was sure she'd made her point, Catra desisted and cuddled in tight. Those big arms wrapped around her were like the world's best blanket. </p><p>"You said we weren't going to bring that up," Catra purred (tonally, not literally). </p><p>"Yeah, I guess I did. I've earned a little peace of mind," Adora said softly, catching the breath that Catra had somehow managed to take away with but a few well-placed kisses. </p><p>"There's more on the way. Unless you've got another pile of forms somewhere, the next few days are gonna be smooth sailing," Catra explained, seemingly in reference to the various events that were ahead. </p><p>"I don't. Just gonna be you and me, kitten. Well, I guess not <em> literally </em>when it comes to parties, but--" </p><p>"I got what you meant," Catra rubbed in closer and noticed for the first time that Adora smelled like lavender. </p><p>Adora just laughed and leaned into the embrace even more. They sat there for a blissful eternity, and Catra swore that the both of them dozed off for at least some of it. Adora snored, so it was fairly easy to tell. Catra had heard from Bow and Glimmer that she used to have sleeping issues, that she was often up late into the night with tactical matters. Now there was no need for that--or hardly, anyway--and it showed in the fact that she slept like a log. It became apparent after a while, though, that it was a bit too early for Catra to fully go back to sleep. Adora seemed kind of whatever, ready to be out cold same as always. She understood, though. </p><p>Catra ended up sneaking downstairs to pick through those leftovers Adora referred to earlier. After lunch, she wouldn't say she qualified as immensely famished, but she was a little snacky and responded as such. As luck would have it, there was indeed some remaining tofu-udon-vegetable stir fry stuff to enjoy. In a shocking twist given her culinary pretensions, Catra actually did not care for tofu initially; she thought it was weird, milky mush with the texture of a wet sponge that had sat in old dish water for too long. Nevertheless, she ended up doing some research into how to prepare it more thoroughly--compressing it with heavy objects and straining excess fluid content, freezing it, and then reheating it--and found it to be more palatable thereafter. It wasn't too bad a dish, honestly. Everything seemed to taste better when you helped with preparing it; that was part of why Catra started cooking and baking in the first place. That, and it was superb anxiety management. </p><p>The leftover noodle thing was tasty and filling, with a good mix of textures to it. By now, the sun was already beginning its descent, and Catra saw this clear as day through the massive window at the far end of the dining room. She went ahead and washed her bowl and fork, put them away, and then headed back upstairs. From there, she brushed her teeth, used the facilities, splashed a bit of water on her face (which was still something that she was finicky about), generally going through the motions of ending the day. There was a bit of a nice feeling in her soul, seeing herself in the mirror and being proud. Her hair had grown back in after Horde Prime had it cropped and she felt like it almost contributed to burying that trauma. </p><p><em> Feel that, Shadow Weaver? </em> She thought to herself, <em> This abomination is taking herself back, god fucking dammit.  </em></p><p>By the time she'd wrapped up in the bathroom, there was birdsong echoing in the streets. The day was concluding, and just based on her internal inventory of it she felt satisfied. When she got back to the bedroom Adora was still snoring peacefully, albeit now she was clothed in her pajamas (a loosely used noun, considering she was just wearing an oversized band shirt and underwear). </p><p><em> Hope I didn't wake her, </em>Catra thought. </p><p>It felt like today the two were headed for an early bedtime, assuming Adora didn't stir spontaneously and elect to stay up for another four hours. Catra was okay with that, although the fact that she'd napped a bunch during the day almost guaranteed that she'd be thrown off. It seemed that in the end, skipping that midday cup of coffee didn't even matter. The light entering the bedroom was blood orange and dimming rapidly. Catra was still having trouble accepting this was real; having spent most of her life in a hellhole soured by technological regression and urban decay, she found it so surreal that there could be this much color anywhere in the world. </p><p>"Well, goodnight, you beautiful idiot," Catra whispered, gently leaning in and kissing Adora's forehead. Her lover looked so peaceful that she almost didn't want to say anything, but she couldn't resist. </p><p>"<em> Your </em>beautiful idiot…" Adora groaned, half asleep and barely coherent. It was pretty damn cute, Catra wouldn't deny that. Even if Adora made an odd snorting noise after she spoke. </p><p>"Yeah," Catra replied, dropping herself back down on the bed and pulling Adora in tight, "<em> Mine. </em>" </p><p>The statement almost made her voice tremble and drew tears in her eyes. Almost three years on, and it was still simultaneously hard to believe and reason for the utmost gratitude to the universe. The war was over, and by some miracle they were reunited at last. Catra had always loved Adora. Without getting too creepy, she would honestly die for Adora. That was why she was Lord Protector, after all. Luckily, however, there wouldn't be any need for anyone to die in this world they'd forged with each other. </p><p>This new world was still in its infancy, and together they would keep building it up for themselves. Things were going to be alright. </p><p>Everything was going to be alright. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Phantom Limb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Adora approaches Catra with an unconventional proposal for their bedroom, she finds herself faced with various uncomfortable thoughts and questions about her identity. The Lord Protector will have to weigh what she wants for her own body against a myriad of traumas from the past. Meanwhile, Bow returns with an update on the bombing and a playlist from Earth-That-Was.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2: Phantom Limb </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**CONTENT WARNING: contains some fairly heavy lemony themes along with content that some fellow transfem peeps may find uncomfortable/dysphoria triggering. The following is mostly reflective of my own experiences and comfort zones and I know I do not speak for all others in the same ballpark. I trust readers' discretion. 18+ for this chapter.**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was in that space again. That dreadful purgatory of the night time in which she dared not tread of her own accord. The sky was the color of a telescreen tuned to a blurred channel, and the streets were lined with cyclopean spires of fire and steel. It was the Fright Zone, or at least a subconscious, illusory depiction of it. Which meant precisely one thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was having </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>dream again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Streets that were once choked with Horde death squads were now barren. Every inch of that sordid place was, come to think of it. All of it, except for one place. Always that same accursed place. Down this street, there was going to be a bench, and the bench would have exactly one occupant. Catra dreaded confrontation with this lonesome antagonist on this night as with any night. Why oh why couldn’t that petulant, shrill zombie just leave Catra the ever-loving, black-and-blue-striped fuck alone? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked for some measurement of time that seemed baffling to all conventional logic. She was crossing a short road, yet it felt like the journey took hours. Every step was a stab of dread, yet she knew she would never be rid of this vision unless she went through the motions. Eventually, she took her last step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The material of the bench didn't seem to match the general architecture of the Fright Zone. It looked like it had been carved out of a slab of polished ebony, practically a nondescript black geometric shape hovering in the landscape like a crack in reality. If it had been a literal crack in reality, a black hole formed spontaneously as if from nowhere, it would be infinitely preferable to the reality of its presence. Unfortunately, the red-robed, charcoal-haired wanderer atop the construct was unmistakable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, you old ray of sunshine. How's it hanging?" Catra addressed Shadow Weaver, her bravado and snark a mere facade concealing a quivering, trembling anxious fire in her guts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Shadow Weaver moved in the dream world was...unnatural. She had been spooky in life for sure, but this was just beyond freaky. The way she twitched and writhed like a broken animatronic was so grotesque Catra had to stifle a nervous gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How good of you to join me, Catra," the spectre of Catra's former mentor--and tormentor--said in a low growl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, make it quick. I've only got time for a little bit of your bullshit name-calling before I go back to life with my awesome girlfriend. Y'know, the one you said I'd never get," Catra taunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And how is that going?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, great! Really great! We have our own place, garden out front, espresso machine, big bed. I get to cuddle her every single night, and I bake her stuff because that's a thing I'm into now. Oh, and the sex! Don't even get me started! Adora is an </span>
  <em>
    <span>animal </span>
  </em>
  <span>in bed. Glad you're not here to creep on me anymore, because chances are you would've definitely seen some...stuff, shall we say. And you know what, Shady? Wanna know something else, you unbelievable bitch? She loves me for who I am. She sees me as a girl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her </span>
  </em>
  <span>girl. Not a fetishist, not defective, not an…" Catra's voice trembled for a moment and she felt her fists ball up, "not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking abomination</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You lost, asshole! Go back to whatever Hell you crawled out of!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, there was total silence. At this point, Catra was totally confused at just how lucid she was within the dream world. Then Shadow Weaver spoke, and whatever facade Catra had left all fell away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even in death, you remain desperate for my validation. Your resistance only confirms what I already know. I am disappointed, Catra. Very disappointed," Shadow Weaver scoffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to gloat a bit after years of you dragging me through the mud,” Catra attempted to regain some of her pride, though at this point it may have all looked very false. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Fair enough. Of course, deep down a part of you knows you only have all of this because I allowed it. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>indulge this charade, after all. Anyway, I digress,” the spectre sounded less venomous than usual. Bored, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell do you mean, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>digress?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra asked. All this...echo ever did was repeat the same script of insults over and over again like a broken record. What could it possibly be doing to get off topic? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean something is coming, Catra. You couldn’t have seriously expected that this utopia of yours would last forever. For better or for worse, your life is about to change.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Catra maintained her composure, though she felt her hairs stand on end and her palms--or the illusion thereof--begin to sweat, “How so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just say there’s a lot about yourself you don’t know, and a lot about this so-called government of yours you don’t know. I’d recommend you divide your trust sparingly, both among people and material tools,” the spectre paused, “That should adequately summarize it all. Now get out of my sight, abomination.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the words from her own mouth was one thing. Hearing Shadow Weaver’s own intonation of that cursed nickname, however? The rage boiled like the surface of the brightest star. Catra pounced on the old hag and immediately jabbed her claws straight for her jugular. The attack proved futile, however, as Catra found no target for her attack but simply oily smoke. Shadow Weaver's simulacrum vanished into the aether before Catra could deliver the killing blow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No…" she choked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was left alone on the streets of this dream world, an all-too-real cold settling over everything. Then it got weirder, as dreams often do. The spectre returned, but now they were simply a disembodied voice coming at Catra from all directions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You will never be one of us," Shadow Weaver's ghost boomed, "You are nothing but delusional." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One of whom? The Horde?" Catra looked around, disoriented by the now-collapsing street, "what makes you think I'd ever want to be part of the Horde?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spectre cackled in a voice that sounded utterly dissimilar to Shadow Weaver's. It was distorted, rumbling, like it was bubbling up from some bile-filled sepulchral ulcer in the world's surface.  As if that wasn't horrible enough, the ground seemed to shake at its intonations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, darling, no," the spectre chided, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>women.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dreamscape began to collapse, vaporizing into the same oily smoke from earlier. Catra tried to escape, but she was consumed by it. It was like drowning in tar. The abyss sucked her in until there was nothing left, and not even a scream could escape her lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catra awoke screaming and covered in sweat. As the real world returned to her, she realized that she might have disturbed Adora and frantically looked towards the other side of the bed. Oddly enough, her lover remained unperturbed. Catra surmised that Adora was just that mentally exhausted. It certainly worked in her favor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this time having that recurring nightmare and Catra never recalled an instance of it being that vivid. That vision of Shadow Weaver didn't usually have quite as much eloquence. Her shrink would have a field day with this. She knew none of it was real, and she was incredibly thankful to be back in the real world with her too-good-to-be-true life. However, the pain still lingered. It hardly ever went away right after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra started racking her brain trying to think of just what the hell she was going to do to get past this. Already, she was getting in touch with her breath and clenching her fists open and shut. It was fairly basic progressive muscle relaxation, albeit simplified to its most minimal state. Usually that was enough, but today--after a vision like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>--it just wasn't taking the edge off fully. She needed something more. Maybe something nice for Adora, seeing as how the made-up Shadow Weaver her subconscious concocted kind of made her feel a bit insecure about her relationship and worth therein. She looked at her girlfriend, looking very peaceful in the teal glow of the morning's small hours. While the solution Catra was inspired towards may have been unimaginative, she nonetheless knew what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm gonna make you something nice, babe," she whispered to Adora, pecking her cheek gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra headed to the dresser, movements kept quiet and some might say </span>
  <em>
    <span>cat-like, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and picked out her duds for the day. She came away wearing high-waisted jeans the color of a faded, cloud-dotted summer sky and a black collared shirt. A little bit fancy for an outfit she was about to destroy with flour, but it was the first thing within reach. Briefly glancing into the mirror mounted above the dresser, she pointed some awkward finger guns at herself and smirked weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Looking sharp, Lord Protector, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought to herself in some vain effort to rebuild some of her confidence post-nightmare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This whole situation felt almost worthy of a laugh to Catra. Adora was always the one up at the crack of dawn, going for a jog or lifting her weights or doing chin ups on that bar she set up in the study (which in and of itself was a bit funny; who else but the spacefaring warrior princess and queen of the lesbians to have gym equipment in her room for books). In contrast, Catra slept in more often than not and was typically unreachable before her morning caffeination. Disrespecting that particular rule of hers typically got people the high-price reward of a very, very long and colorful string of insults courtesy of Catra (Adora being the exception, who just got some very aggressive kisses and if the mood arose other things). It seemed like such a ridiculous reversal of fates. Of course, Adora usually embraced the morning. Catra was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>too scared </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go back to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sneaking into the kitchen, Catra looked out the window at the dim turquoise light cast by the barely-risen sun. Her gaze then turned to the clock on the stove, which read 6:30 AM. That might as well have been the earliest Catra had woken up in these three-or-so years. Maybe ever, come to think of it. Well, she intended to make good use of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't care about the lights. Her eyes were naturally attuned for the dark, and she could just as easily work without them. Saved on the electric bill, too. Proceeding as planned, working off of nothing but a recipe she kept in the back of her head after making it so many times, she went about the somewhat arduous process of gathering all the supplies she'd need. This part would prove to be extraordinarily difficult to accomplish without making a ton of noise, as she would quickly discover. Just going through the cupboard to get the baking sheets was like sitting next to a scrapyard. Frankly, though, Adora seemed so zonked after her desk work day that she could've probably stayed in bed even if the neighbourhood got hit by a tornado. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She arranged the ingredients and utensils on the counter--god, the amount of money she spent on all these little bits and pieces was hilarious--and felt pretty darn confident about what she was going to do. Baking cookies at an obscenely early hour to spite a weirdly realistic simulacrum of her transphobic ex-commander? Who else but Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck yeah," she whispered to herself, "Time to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mise</span>
  </em>
  <span> the hell out of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>en place</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, she got to work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was coming up, gilding everything in the kitchen. Catra was pleased to admit that she'd only gotten a smattering of flour--and maybe like a solitary drop of butter-sugar mixture--on her clothes, as opposed to the obliteration she'd expected. The first batch was in the oven, and by now her dream seemed a vague, hazy mirage on the horizons of her brain. It seemed like the mission was a success, and to top it all off she didn't even wake up Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it was tempting to go and eat all of the raw cookie dough as is--admittedly, Catra stole a few spoonfuls and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they were delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span>--she figured a second batch would be a better use for it. While she waited for the first round to come out, Catra got coffee from the espresso machine and sat on the floor sipping the finished result. Dark roast, splash of almond milk. She really had the perfect coffee all figured out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re...up early.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora’s voice, always so cute when she was sleepy, startled Catra more than she cared to admit. She felt some of her fur ruffle and her tail begin to flick, having let Adora catch her by surprise; her eyes had been firmly downwards, eyes mostly affixed to that creamy maelstrom in her mug. When she looked up, Adora was on the stairs, still wearing the same oversized Metallica shirt and scant else. Catra was skittish around pretty much any sudden noise--almost made her wonder why she spent so much of her hobby around rattling cookware--but once she knew Adora was behind it, she calmed right down. Taking in her beauty made her purr a little, in fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Adora,” Catra nursed her coffee, sitting nonchalantly with her legs out long, "I'm not up early, you're just up late." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh? Then what time is it?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra glanced at the clock on the adjacent wall (the stove clock was being occupied by a timer). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like 7:30," she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So I'm, like, half an hour late then. No big deal," Adora made her way down the rest of the stairs, entering the kitchen. Her hair practically merged with the light and Catra felt she had to restrain herself to prevent her purrs from making the floor rumble. She felt a flush of heat to her face and got visibly annoyed with herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On second thought</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Catra thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I bet she thinks it's cute when I blush. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's in the oven? Sure smells good," Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cookies," Catra said as she took a deep slurp out of her coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit, really? The ones with the little nut bits? And the chocolate?" Adora perked up quite a bit at the idea that they might be this particular cookie variety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. The very same," Catra briefly craned her neck around to check on the timer, which was now reading two minutes, "Just wanted to do something nice, babe." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra stood up, sipped her coffee, and then placed the quarter-full mug on the counter. She wondered for a moment how Adora always somehow managed to get up with perfect hair while she remained an untamed furball at even the best of times, but ultimately thought nothing of it. Better to just appreciate her lover's beauty. The way her eyes lit up at the mention of this particular recipe--the "little nut bits" in question were pecans and the chocolate was usually accompanied by little caramel pieces </span>
  <em>
    <span>which Catra forgot because she was stupid and sleepy</span>
  </em>
  <span>--just made everything even better. Again, she found herself regretting all those years she didn't just turn her back on the Horde and embrace her feelings for this incredible woman, this Amazon from another world who made her weak in the knees just by walking past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so glad you picked baking up, Catra. Now whenever I want cookies, I can just bug you," Adora's voice was all wry and smug. She walked past Catra while putting a hand to her waist, eventually cuddling in behind her. Well, no holding back the purrs now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was Adora trying to be sexy? It was still early and Catra's abilities to read the room weren't honed at this hour, but that was a pretty sensual touch. The intention behind it seemed so, anyway. She figured she was just reading into it too much. It was early as hell, why would Adora be teasing her at this hour? Besides, it wasn't like cookies were an aphrodisiac or anything and--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She got her answer pretty fast, and didn't even have to ask. Adora was notorious for being direct about that stuff, but to just slide her hands down the front of Catra's jeans like that? To do something like that in their kitchen early in the day, no less? That approached a new level of boldness. Almost three years into this, and even when she was at her most aggressive Adora usually made a point of making her intentions known verbally. Not today, though, it would seem. Still, if Catra hadn't liked Adora's hand being in her pants, she would've said something herself and moved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Adora," Catra whispered, feeling herself twitch and stiffen in her lover's prying hand, "You're gonna make me burn the cookies, dude." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The timer read less than a minute now. Her priorities were shifting a little, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I found a dessert I'd rather have," Adora said, not showing any signs of stopping. She was always using cheesy lines like that. Catra actually found it kind of endearing. Weirdly hot, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are," Catra was beginning to feel short of breath, "Such an idiot." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your mouth's saying idiot, but your body's saying...well, it's definitely saying something else," Adora's voice was almost a low growl. Forever the top, it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra couldn't argue with that. Her lover definitely knew how to touch her in just the right way. Almost three years of good communication around sex would do that to a relationship, it would seem. Needless to say, judging by the rising heat Catra felt between her thighs, it was paying off. All she could think was </span>
  <em>
    <span>were these pants always so tight</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Every other thought had just become dust in the wind as the teasing overwhelmed her. The oven beeped and she hardly even noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wh-what's this about?" Catra's words were like jelly. Heaven forbid Adora escalate from just rubbing her to something more, elsewise Catra might just lose all grasp on verbalizing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do I have to have ulterior motives?" Adora laughed in probably the most sultry manner Catra had ever heard, "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just wanted to do something nice, babe.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Haha. I was just curious is all…" Catra let out a gasp as Adora gently-but-firmly pulled down on her womanhood, sending a fairly sudden shock of pleasure through the area where her shaft and head met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've just missed you, Catra. Even if this week has been quieter, all the politics have been really overwhelming. I've been in and out of press meetings, summits, legal situations, not to mention the paperwork. When I get home, you're training with some garrison until 2 in the morning. Running this government has been...well, it's been exhausting, to tell the truth," Adora's words were arguably melancholic but her voice remained full of longing as she moved closer to Catra's ear, "I've barely had time to masturbate, let alone mess around with you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The observation was on some levels tragic, though the thought of Adora touching herself was admittedly enough to make Catra moan softly. There had been a couple of times where Catra had caught her mid-act, times where Adora had thought her girlfriend was asleep and unaware. Sometimes she was quite gentle and sweet, and the sounds she made--soft, cute, quiet--were enough to soothe Catra to sleep. Other times she was rough, rolling around between the covers and on the edge of screaming by the end. Either way, it was quite the show. Pretty much the only time Catra felt thankful for being a bit of a rough sleeper, honestly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like I said babe, smoother sailing. We're gonna have a lot of time together in the next couple of weeks," Catra applauded herself for forming a coherent sentence, though the whole thing was hampered by quiet panting and moaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora paused and said nothing for a moment. Catra surmised that her lover was just letting her hand do the talking for a bit, and she was most certainly not objecting to that. Her body ached for Adora, her womanhood begged for more intimate attention. She wanted Adora to just take hold of her hand, drag her back to the bedroom, tear every single garment off of her one by one and touch her all over until she was wet and breathless. Maybe later, she'd get the chance to ask. To beg, even. The cookies were already getting overcooked, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Catra thought, somehow still capable of thoughts despite virtually all of her energy being focused on how good Adora's hand felt against her girlcock, </span>
  <em>
    <span>It has been a while, hasn't it? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hell yeah we are," Adora's voice dripped with lust as she planted a handful of kisses on Catra's neck, "You can take the cookies out now if you want. I wanna try 'em." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra had no time to explain her slight confusion with that statement. Adora's hand suddenly slid out of Catra's panties and jeans, and by extension off her sensitive area. The Lord Protector let out a soft whine of disappointment and longing, only to hear Adora laugh dryly at her lover's obvious desperation for physical release. As she came to her senses and started thinking with her head over another appendage, she decided it was probably for the best. She didn't really want to burn the baked goods she'd worked hard at making for Adora. No, Catra wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>thirsty for a good fuck. Both wants were definitely on similar, competing levels, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd already left the damn things in the oven for way too long, so she just wrapped her hands in a towel and pulled the baking sheet out that way. Oven mitts were a thing for normal baking sessions, and this was definitely far from normal. Far from normal in a good way, of course. Plunking the baking sheet--and its contents, which still looked pretty damn tasty--on the stove top, Catra had a moment of mentally patting herself on the back at just how good the cookies smelled. She found herself looking over her shoulder at Adora, unsurprised that she was still staring her down with the fiercest bedroom eyes on the fucking planet. It had really, really been a long time, and now it seemed it was going to be almost impossible to keep the two off of each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know, you're wondering when the teasing will end," Adora said, dominance coming to her as naturally as taking a breath, "We'll continue in a bit. Don't you worry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Define 'a bit'," Catra probably looked more than a little pathetic right now. She'd forgotten how addictive Adora's touch was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Adora laughed was in a way so curated, so full of innuendo and aggression, that it seemed wholly unlikely it wasn't meant to be seductive. Well, intentional or not, it was definitely working its magic on Catra. The way Adora was sizing her up just made her want instant gratification even more. Then again, there was definitely a unique kind of fun in being made to work for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For me to know and for you to find out, kitten," Adora had this look in her eyes that was just...well, let's just say Catra's pants were definitely not getting any looser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora immediately made a beeline for the baking sheet, clearly just as taken with Catra's culinary craftsmanship as she herself had been. And, well, could anyone blame her? Each of the small, buttery confections was practically of perfect circular structure, marbled with chocolate and garnished with diced pecans. They were almost art, assuming food could be art by one's criteria. Catra knew full well the common sense thing would be to let them cool off before trying any. Unfortunately, common sense seemed to not be Adora's strong suit. Maybe if she assumed her She-Ra alter ego that would change, but probably not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright! Let's do this!" Adora said with unbridled enthusiasm as she picked up one of the cookies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Those things </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>came out of the oven. You'll burn your tongue off, man," Catra warned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora went ahead and took a massive bite anyway (pretty much half the cookie). She then proceeded to grimace while smiling awkwardly. Indeed, common sense once again proved to be a superpower she didn't have in her arsenal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Worth it," Adora's mouth was pretty clearly bursting into flames, but she was still smiling regardless, "Hey, uh, question." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt her ears perk up. Was this about the caramel? She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>she should've never forgotten the goddamn caramel. Stupid, stupid caramel. Dumb useless overrated brown chewy burnt sugar crap. Her days of patisserie were over; she was a fraud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ask away," Catra said, the rational part of her brain figuring it was probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the caramel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, umm, have you ever thought about maybe using </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Adora briefly ran her hand over Catra's crotch again, eliciting a soft whimper, "to...uh…well…" </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, this just got interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To what?" She laughed dryly, "To piss while standing up? Yes, Adora. Several times, actually." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I honestly did not know that was a thing you did, but no. That's not it. What I'm saying is have you ever maybe thought about...y'know…" Adora awkwardly trailed off, the look on her face clearly not just about the cookie anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I really don't. Come on, Adora. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can tell me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>won't find it that kinky, whatever it is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora looked at her feet for a minute, shoved the rest of her cookie in her mouth abruptly, and seemingly swallowed the whole thing in one bite. She turned back to Catra, still standing there with a slightly bewildered and amused look in those lovely David Bowie-esque eyes of hers, and looked back at her with renewed gusto. Whatever was coming, Catra definitely figured it was going to be good. She wasn't prepared for what was actually coming, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, uh, er, umm, anyway Catra, have you ever...oh boy, here goes," Adora fumfered for a second before regaining her composure, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>have you ever thought about maybe using it to go...uh...in me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was certainly a shock. Catra did a bit of a double take to make sure she heard that right, only to find the words clearer than a pristine lake. Thus, of course, that could only mean Adora just asked Catra to </span>
  <em>
    <span>penetrate </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. With </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That just fucking floored her. She just sat there, frozen and unblinking, for a good solid minute of silence. In the time it took Catra to pick her metaphorical jaw up off the floor, the cookies probably could've cooled all the way down. And just </span>
  <em>
    <span>why the ever-loving hell was she purring</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why was her tail curled? Stop it! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Umm...well, I…" Catra started, now taking over Adora's awkward fumfering duties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, I'm sorry. If this is something that makes you dysphoric, we can just leave it there! I wouldn't dream of making you uncomfortable, honey," Adora broke the silence, her face looking infinitely more awkward than when she burnt herself on the cookie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No no, that's not it. It's not a cause for that these days," Catra explained, though admittedly everything felt like a bit of a raw nerve with these Shadow Weaver dreams going on, "I just...ugh, how do I put this? My, er, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bits</span>
  </em>
  <span> work differently. They don't just get hard on command or whatever…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Felt like they worked earlier," Adora said with a wink. The levity was appreciated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know, but like…" Catra sighed, "I'm just gonna let you down, babe. And besides, wouldn't that be weird for you at all?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it was gonna be weird, I wouldn't have brought it up," Adora stepped in closer, seeing the discomfort evident on Catra's face, and held her in a warm embrace, "Look, it's just an idea. It might be fun, but if it's gonna make you feel gross then we'll leave it here. I love you, Catra, and that includes all the boundaries that come with who you are." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora kissed Catra with a great deal of warmth. Catra really wanted to believe what Adora was saying. She wanted to just relax and experiment with new venues for intimacy, but when she thought of doing what Adora suggested it just took her back to her dreams. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You will never be one of us</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the spectre of Shadow Weaver echoed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Women. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Would having sex like that rob her of her identity as a woman? Would it make Adora feel odd afterwards, and everything would just go downhill from there? She looked into her lover's eyes, tranquil and blue as a calm ocean, and didn't ostensibly see any of that judgement being passed. Maybe it would be okay, though whether they'd stay that way after they tried this remained uncertain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Adora. I love you too. I guess it could be fun. Just, I...I might need some time to think about it more, alright?" Catra smiled weakly, optimistic but unable to shake the anxiety in the back of her head about all this. She did want this consciously, but there were doubts in her that nagged at her without respite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course. Don't feel like I'm forcing your hand, okay? We can completely forget this if you're ever not feeling it anymore," Adora asserted. It was always comforting to know she was such a stickler for consent and communication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotcha," Catra pulled herself in further to her girl's embrace, finding a spot to rest her head on Adora's shoulder (though it was more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora's shoulder thanks to height differences). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, y'know, I think 'a bit' has passed...assuming I didn't completely ruin this moment, of course," Adora said, playfully hinting back to their uncontinued matters from earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't ruin a damn thing, babe," Catra leaned in to kiss Adora's cheek, her deep-held anxiety seemingly vanishing as she recalled their moment earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that signal, Adora took Catra's hand, took her back upstairs--after she turned the oven off, of course--and gave her more than just teasing. Honestly, Catra shouldn't have even bothered getting dressed. The end result left her wet and breathless, just like she fantasized about. When they were done and Adora went to the bathroom to wash off her hands, though, Catra's anxiety around the previous discussion truly did slip away for a moment. They could do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> without it being weird, so why not penetrative sex? It felt a bit like the period after a thunderstorm when the clouds dissipated. This whole thing was a dilemma to her, but she did really want it and thus was going to work on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, hun. You still awake?" Adora asked as she returned from the bathroom, still clothed in that dumb shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"By some miracle, yes," Catra felt very thoroughly ravished and was about ready to go back to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look so cute, all roughed up like this," Adora inched closer to the bed, "I'm a bit late for my run, but it was totally worth it. Think I'll get changed and head out soon." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora stole a short, passionate kiss from her lover, still sprawled out on the bed and hardly moving, and then turned to leave. As she turned her back, however, Catra began to feel a second wave of longing. Her confidence was coming back after some stipulation, and now she just wanted to repay Adora. She wanted to let her experience her own release as well, to touch her in all those ways that would leave her wet and breathless too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait," Catra said, taking hold of Adora's wrist, "Let me make you feel good for a bit. Like you did for me. I've missed you too, you know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That look in Adora's eyes came back. Those self-assured bedroom eyes, that cocky smirk, all that dominance that doubtlessly came with being the most elite soldier in the known universe. She wasn't done with Catra. Hell, she was probably never really planning on leaving just then. She just wanted to tease her girlfriend a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well…" Adora leaned in, "...I guess a warm up wouldn't hurt." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She climbed back into bed and stripped herself with the grace of a dancer. Only then did Catra's morning become truly perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just wanted to do something nice, babe.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next couple of days passed as normal. Catra gardened, Adora worked out, the two ate too many cookies. There was plenty more of the intimacy that started two mornings prior, too (it couldn't be stressed enough that it had been quite a while, and they missed each other a lot physically). Adora's proposal hadn't come up in casual conversation again, and Catra was thankful for the space it left her to think about it. It was, on some level, a shame that for so many other couples this was something completely pedantic and natural. With Catra's identity in the mix, however, it became this huge mental debate. Every time she'd built up the confidence to maybe say 'okay, I want this', she'd immediately recall some distant insult or insecurity about her body and retreat back into her shell. The dreams had stopped, and that was good, but her journey out of trauma and into self-love was still a work in progress. She'd come a long way, but this was bringing up uncomfortable questions she didn't even realize she still had. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want this so bad and I feel ashamed for wanting it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought to herself as she lay on the couch in the study, gazing absentmindedly at the bone-colored ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now wasn't the time for speculating about that stuff. She was waiting on a video call from Bow, following up on the recently-authorized investigation of the bombing. That was the matter at hand, and it was indeed a very big deal in the EPG. Still, her mind kept racing around all these ridiculously philosophical questions. She cursed herself for wanting this with Adora, as well as how it could seemingly invalidate who she was. How it could prove Shadow Weaver right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You will never be one of us. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her train of thought was--perhaps mercifully--interrupted when the laptop resting on her knees started ringing. The noise was probably innocuous enough, but Catra's attuned ears in tandem with the rising anxiety and guilt in her chest made her jump at the electronic chiming. The call software displayed Bow's contact info in the caller window, so naturally she clicked the little green receiver icon and picked up. Hopefully whatever revelations came out of the bombing investigation would prove a welcome distraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Talk to me, Robin Hood. I needed answers about this bombing </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesterday,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra said, her face appearing in tiny digital form in a UI window parallel to a tiny digital version of Bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queen's lover, second-in-command and expert combat engineer was still largely the same cheery, good-natured, warm guy he'd been during the Horde war. His hair had gotten longer and he seemed to be sporting a soul patch--questionable, but not Catra's business to question--but he was still Bow, right down to wearing some variation of a heart-emblazoned crop top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And a good day to you too, Lord Protector," he laughed, "Yeah, I got updates on this bombing situation. Detachment filed the full mission report just this morning." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So lay it on me," Catra requested, her voice about as enthusiastic as a hotboxing sloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright. Give me a minute, I'm gonna turn screen sharing on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of inactivity as Bow fiddled with the software. Then his screen blinked, and his visage was replaced with a blurry image of what looked like a crater-pockmarked highway. Well, it was either a crater or the mother of all potholes. There were a few car wrecks dotting the landscape off in the distance, but it looked like the EPG mopped up most other detritus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The detachment we sent arrived at ground zero at approximately 0600 hours yesterday. There were a few unidentified contacts in the area, presumably bandits. Some shots were exchanged before the mystery guys fled, though no one was injured. Analysis of the area indicates that the blast was definitely not an accident, and was the result of a planned attack with explosives. We're guessing IEDs, probably planted by the same bandits who attacked our pals in the detachment," Bow recounted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you think they were after?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"With bandits? Uh, hard to say. Might've been planned as a robbery or something, but sometimes they just sort of cause chaos for chaos' sake. Don't think the report elaborated on that," Bow explained with a shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra could already tell something was off just by looking at the photos. She'd seen IED craters before. After all, she and Adora had been leading the charge to unify the frontier at the end of the war. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>not an IED. Even at a distance, the blast marks were way too precise. She had a hunch about what it </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be, but she'd need a closer look to make sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, can you zoom in on the crater?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"On it," Bow said, followed by the sound of clacking keys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The photo zoomed in with a beep and enhanced its resolution to fit the new perspective. Just looking at the close up of the crater, Catra had all the proof she needed. This was no IED. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think the explosives used here were improvised, Robin Hood," she pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why's that?" Bow asked, quizzical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These blast marks are too angular. Too precise. I recognize them from the last war. That's definitely Horde technology," her brow furrowed, confused, "Where the hell would bandits get Horde explosives?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easy. They were going through some old Horde junk and took everything not bolted down. That's how Bandits roll, bro. We've fought warbands with First Ones guns before," Bow described. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was true. Quite a firefight, that was. Catra couldn't say she was nostalgic for those antics compared with her current situation, though. Not that this dilemma in her and Adora's bedroom was any less...</span>
  <em>
    <span>challenging</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for lack of a better term. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I remember that. Hmm. I dunno, man. This doesn't feel right. Promise me we'll keep tabs on the situation, okay?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If anything suspicious happens, you'll be the first to know. Want me to send over another copy of the image for you?" Bow answered the question with yet another question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, sure." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Totally unrelated, but you listen to any music these days? With all the old cultural stuff we're digging up about Earth-That-Was, there's some really good stuff out there." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora likes something called 'metal'. That's all I know. I haven't had a ton of time for that stuff," Catra winced, knowing that was a total lie, "Well, er, it's more like I haven't cared enough to look into it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if you have a bit to yourself and you're interested, I've been building a pretty rad playlist from some of the older Earth records I've perused. It's weird, I never much cared for history back when my dads were just studying the First Ones, but now that we're exploring all of human history and culture it's just...ugh, it's just more fun this way," he paused and clicked some more keys, "Anywho, I attached the full thing to the same message with the photo. Happy listening! And, uh, I hope this meeting cleared some stuff up." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was about to say goodbye and hang up, but then something occurred to her. She was notoriously bad at going to her (relatively) new friends for advice, but she thought it might be good to shoot her shot with the thing troubling her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bow, wait," Catra spat out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief, confused moment of silence where the engineer raised his eyebrow and remained silent. He was still a pretty warm dude, though. Even if they'd been at odds once, he couldn't turn his back on his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's going on?" Bow asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just have a personal question I need help with. It's about me and Adora," Catra felt a heat of anxiety rise in her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, okay. What's up with you guys?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sucked in a rough breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So let's say that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetically</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was this thing I wanted to do for Adora that would </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetically </span>
  </em>
  <span>make us both really happy. That said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetically </span>
  </em>
  <span>this thing might be grounds for people to be judgy about us. What should I do?" She explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That is a lot of hypotheticals," Bow laughed, "Okay, so I'm not gonna prod about what this thing is or why it might be grounds for people to give you trouble, because it's not my business. That's precisely the thing, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's not anyone's business. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Your relationship is between you and Adora, and if doing this thing is gonna make you both happy then you should do it. And, well, if anyone gives you trouble about it, screw those guys! You two are happy, and that's what counts." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Leave it to Bow to pull through with the wholesome, supportive advice, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. Not bad, Robin Hood." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm here for you guys whenever you need me. I'm a bi dude who has a girlfriend. I know all about dealing with haters and not caring what people think. Good luck with whatever it is you two are working on," Bow smiled. This guy was just too sincere. There was something surreal about having a friend like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks again," Catra smiled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No problem. What else is the Best Friends Squad for?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have a good one, man." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You too, Catra." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both hung up. Around five minutes later, Catra got a direct message from Bow that contained two files. The first one was just the photo of the bombing site, but the other was some bundle of audio files labelled "Best Friends Mix". Not having much else to do, Catra opened the playlist up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first song was all she needed to hear to make her fall in love with it. Catra knew nothing about music, but this was a hell of a way to start. The guitars and drums chugged along with the most melancholic yet sweet energy, and the singer was so vulnerable and raw. Their voice had so much emotion behind it: lust, betrayal, sorrow, all tied together with some sort of forbidden longing. Needless to say, it resonated with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never meant to cause you any sorrow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never meant to cause you any pain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories from three years ago came flooding back. She thought of Adora in her arms at the Heart of Etheria, fading away from Horde Prime's poison. Her desperate last confession of all those pent up feelings for Adora somehow saved the planet. She really never did mean to harm her. She just got carried away in all the brainwashing, the bullshit. Now, things were looking pretty awesome. The song carried her from those hard times to this wonderful new world and back again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Catra to some intimate future possibilities, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew what she had to do now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She wanted this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she wasn't going to let anybody slow her down. Not Shadow Weaver, least of all. Her identity was her identity, and she wasn't going to let her validity be determined by her abusive (and dead) old boss' bullshit. With renewed confidence, she bounded upstairs to the bedroom and swung the door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll do it," she said with a great sense of purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora looked awfully cute, her hair back and her abs framed by that tight grey crop top she wore when she was working out from time to time. Looked pretty rugged too, carrying that weight in one arm. Catra couldn't make out the exact number on the weight, but she was guessing it was pretty damn heavy. Most of all, though, she looked perplexed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do what? I don't--oh! The…?" She made a vague pointing gesture at her crotch, eyes wide with sudden realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yep. Just, uh, foreplay first," Catra half-joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honey, I may be your idiot, but I'm not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much of an idiot. I'm gonna take care of you. I want this to be nice for both of us," Adora's smile was all warmth and maybe something else, "When the mood arises, let me know, okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You got it," Catra smiled. She felt weirdly confident about all this. Like she'd really bounced back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they cuddled together in bed that night, Catra had trouble sleeping. Part of her was just too excited by this new wave of self confidence, self love. It was just her and Adora, and that was all that mattered. They could do whatever they wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, if we're going to do this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora told Catra over breakfast, mouth full of pancakes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you should probably get some protection. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What? Like a gun? I don't follow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra had asked, being purposefully obtuse. She knew what this was really about. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you dork, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora laughed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I mean some condoms. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Which brought Catra to what she was doing now. Honestly, this step seemed largely redundant in her eyes. She wasn't actually sure what effect Shadow Weaver's transitional magic had on her own fertility, but she guessed that it probably hampered it. That said, safety was important. The Horde hadn't had the best sex ed in the galaxy, but as Catra recalled it covered the basic stuff. Where it failed, she also had the Etherinet now. Plus, this whole errand was going to be dumb and silly and awkward, no doubt. It added a bit of an extra layer to this whole process, for better or worse. So, here she was walking to the drug store, off to go get condoms for her and her girlfriend. Maybe if she'd brought Adora she could've messed with the person at the register and been all like 'you'll never guess which one of us has a dick'. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drug store was down the street from the house and across from the pizza place. Station 9 was one of the smaller EPG cities, but main street still had more than enough amenities to keep Adora and Catra entertained; not to mention the goal with their move away from Bright Moon had always been to embrace the quiet life. The drug store was probably the second biggest establishment, located in a giant slab of grey concrete that some tagger had written "FALSE PRINCESS" on the side of using red spray paint. Catra wondered if that was maybe a new band or something. Well, it sounded pretty badass at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She passed through the sliding doors into the sterile, blue-and-white interior of the drug store. Wanting this to be over with as quickly and nonchalantly as possible, she just kind of paced around the different shelves and told customer service she was 'just browsing' until she came across the aisle with sexual health odds and ends. Looking up at the shelf and all the little packets of protective </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra wondered just why anyone would need this many varieties of rubber barriers to slap on one's junk. She grabbed the closest one--something bespoke, not ribbed or anything fancy like that--and almost speed walked to the checkout. As she waited in line, she thought to herself that now would be a particularly bad time to get recognized in public. Thankfully, no one seemed interested in drawing attention to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she got to the register, she put the small box on the counter and tried very, very hard to avoid eye contact with the girl behind the counter. It proved to be not enough, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, aren't you Lord Protector Catra?" The cashier asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yep…" Catra said through gritted teeth, still trying hard not to look at the cashier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cashier looked at Catra, then at the box of condoms, and then back at Catra. Well, wasn't that just curious and confusing. Of course, Catra caught onto the young woman's bewilderment and got on her guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh…" The cashier started, but was very quickly interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't even think about it, dude. Just bag it," Catra hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, right!" The cashier saluted impotently in a meager gesture of respect, "13 credits even." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra said nothing, only tossing a handful of bills on the counter and pushing them across. The cashier pulled the credits in and passed the box back to Catra. She promptly snatched it and headed for the door, trying not to telegraph that she was purposely walking away as fast as she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have a fun night, Lord Protector," the cashier almost sing-songed as Catra turned for the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Protector merely slid her protection into the pocket of her leather jacket and flipped the cashier the bird, heading back out into the street as fast as she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Next time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought to herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm buying condoms on the Etherinet. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catra looked out the window, having finished her stretches for the evening. Gotta work off the calories in all of those leftover cookies (seriously, she made way too much dough) somehow. Adora was in the shower, and she frankly felt like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>idiot for not joining her. It had been on the table, but she just couldn't stop thinking about their plans and the carton in their nightstand. The thought alone made her pulse race. She didn't want to force it, though, obviously; she wanted the experience to flow together naturally, and as such she wasn't going to bring it up. She'd brought the protection in a day ago, and honestly she was thinking that the longer she held out the better. The wait might just make the two of them want it more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did have another plan for the evening, though. It wasn't sex of any stripe, no, but rather something sweet. Never let it be said that Lord Protector Catra didn't have her Bambi lesbian moments. She bounded onto the bed, sure to really savor the comfy squishiness of it, and turned her attention to the opened laptop on Adora's side of the bed. Both of them used the laptop for work with the EPG, but tonight it would be doing something more fun. As Catra heard the shower turn off, she hurriedly loaded up "Best Friends Mix" on the laptop, crossed her legs, and waited for Adora to arrive. The curtains were slightly drawn, the sun was setting, everything looked incredibly beautiful in the vibrant glow of the room. Catra was almost wishing she had a scented candle or two handy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard footsteps out in the hallway. It was a bit tricky not to, seeing as how the floor--the floor in this custom built house, built less than a year and a half ago--squeaked </span>
  <em>
    <span>maddeningly </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the slightest hint of pressure. Adora was soon there in the bedroom doorway, a blue towel wrapped around her. She looked like some kind of beautiful golden flower, wrapped and bound by an ultramarine ribbon. Again, that telltale purring of Catra's started up. Three years with this woman, and her love for her burned three times as bright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, kitten. You working on something?" Adora asked, throwing a bit of wet hair out of her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, yeah," Catra said, cursor hovering over the shuffle button, "Yeah, you could say that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got up off the bed, standing right in the way of the carmine radiance of the sun. They were both together in the end-of-day afterglow, and it felt almost celestial. Catra had seen eldritch technology of a long-lost human civilization, cyclopean Horde menaces from the cold fathoms of dark space, and Adora--</span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora--was still the most bewitching of the whole crowd. This could perhaps be blamed on the fact that Adora </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>in fact a member of that eldritch incarnation of humanity, but to Catra she was simply an extraordinary being who she felt lucky to have in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, what's going on, If you don't mind me asking?" Adora raised an eyebrow in curiosity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra smiled in anticipation. She'd given this playlist thing a couple of listens while she'd been gardening or cooking or working out (she'd exported it to her communicator for portability and listened to it with earbuds), almost to the point of memorizing it. Every listen made her think of some leg of her and Adora's journey, somehow. Well, a few of them just reminded her of what it was like to smoke Perfuma's weed; still, the majority were the right mix of sexy, poignant and optimistic to invoke memories of this crazy ride they'd been on together. The damn thing was </span>
  <em>
    <span>made </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be shared, for God's sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, so you may recall that Bow and I met to discuss the bombing a while back. And at the end of the meeting, he sends me this...uh, I think he called it a 'playlist?' Am I making sense?" Catra paused and checked in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora just smiled and nodded, restraining a giggle at Catra's vague understanding of music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright! Anyway, it's a collection of old music from Earth-That-Was and, well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>slaps. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Am I using that right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora smiled and nodded again, this time being unable to hold back the laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Moving on…" Catra sighed at her own awkwardness--Adora seemed to think it was cute, so it was whatever--and returned to the laptop, tapping the trackpad and clicking the playlist's 'shuffle' option, "...May I have this dance, Princess?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Catra felt a bit absurd, standing there with her hand outstretched in feigned nobility as Toto's "Africa" started to slowly drum out of the laptop. It might've looked a lot better were they back in Bright Moon and she was in her full uniform--high waisted black pants with a gold stripe, red collared shirt, white and gold greatcoat slung over her shoulder like a cape, all tied together with her combat boots and Adora's belt insignia--but here she was, dressed in the ever-so-dashing ensemble of a loose crop top that said 'wildcat' and workout shorts. Not that Adora was looking particularly formal either in that towel. Nevertheless, the First One space marine smiled, blushed and took Catra's hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would be honored to, Lord Protector," Adora played along, her eyes level with Catra's and their faces mere inches apart. It was enough to make Catra purr again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra put her hands around Adora's broad shoulders, still slightly damp from showering and shapely from years of rigorous honing. She felt Adora's hands come to rest on her waist, and almost instinctively she leaned into Adora's shoulder. With her head rested there, the two awkwardly box-stepped around the room to the synthesizer-laden low roar of Toto's melancholic anthem. The lyrics seemed to tell of reuniting with a distant lover and questioning one's own morality and, well, how could Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>think of her and Adora when she heard that? Maybe she was being a little silly here, but she'd gone most of her life barely even knowing what music was; being introduced to it for the first time, even if it was just this bite-sized portion Bow compiled, was making her emotions go crazy and she had no idea why. Those Earth-That-Was guys had it made, didn't they? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn't need Adora to say a word to her that whole time. The embrace spoke for itself, getting held in those powerful arms and having a chance for a special kind of vulnerability. She'd intended for this to simply be cute, sure, but the way dusk's light fell on the two lovers just made everything so weirdly magical. It wasn't just cute, it was emotional. It became clear to Catra that the two had missed so much more than sex this last while; they'd missed moments like these, the heartfelt ones of doing something that might be a bit cheesy but still connected them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would end up dancing to a few more songs. It started to get a little darker out, and Catra realized for a moment that she and Adora hadn't said a word this whole time. Maybe checking in would be good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Feel free to let me know if you're getting tired of this," Catra murmured, voice probably muffled by Adora's embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm okay with stopping whenever you want. This is honestly really nice," Adora whispered, her voice indescribably heavy in some spots. Catra wasn't quite sure what that might signify. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the last song faded, a familiar chord rang out. This chord was followed by a few more before combining into an all-too-familiar slow, emotion-wrought beat. It was the first song in the playlist, "Purple Rain" by someone who'd just referred to themselves as Prince. Seemed weirdly fitting given all the princesses on Etheria. This song always seemed to simultaneously give Catra chills and renewed confidence. So, naturally, she found it fitting to look into those deep azure eyes of Adora's and try her hand with a fairly provocative question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want, Adora?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, it seemed innocuous upon first glance, but the two of them had history with that question. It was first asked back on the final fronts of the Horde war, back when Adora seemed so intent on becoming a martyr. Catra was, of course, on some level selfish in her reasoning for prodding Adora about it--she was madly in love with her and didn't want her to, y'know, die before she could admit that fact--but it was something Adora still needed to hear. She deserved to feel good sometimes and not always put others before herself. The answer Adora gave this time, if you could call it that, was one that nonetheless blindsided Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora took Catra's face gently into her hands and brought their lips together with energy that was paradoxically raw and gentle all at once. Catra was frankly alarmed, her eyes staying open for a few aghast moments before batting shut to fully enjoy the moment. The force and heat were enough to make her whimper and she just surrendered to Adora's power. Clearly the question hadn't lost emotional significance. The answer was a lot clearer now than it was then, but Catra had a suspicion that it remained unchanged after all these years: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. I want this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, it was definitely an answer Catra liked. She wrapped herself around her lover with renewed passion, letting herself sink into it all, and all the while internally cursing herself for the fact that her shorts somehow began to feel constraining. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was supposed to be cute, you dumb lesbian, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she screamed at herself internally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow," Catra gasped once the kiss finally broke, "A kiss like that would usually be followed by something important, is all I'm saying." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?" Adora teased. Catra knew full well what the heavy parts of her voice meant now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah. I can read you like an open book, Adora." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Said the woman," Adora gently moved her hand along Catra's back until it was practically cupping her rear, "who purrs whenever she's happy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Said the woman who knows that even without a tell, an idiot like you still telegraphs all her moves. Admit it. You're gonna try and one-up yourself now, and whatever you do it better be g--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was cut off before she could finish the thought, whether from surprise or direct physical action she could hardly say. Adora got this glint in her eyes, this same cocky, sly squint she sometimes got when they sparred, and nudged Catra forward onto the bed behind her. Mercifully, she didn't collide with the computer and her ankles were mostly spared from getting hit by the front bedposts on the way down. All this worry about not forcing anything, and it was clear the danger of that occurring was slim to none. This whole setup was meant to be cute, but clearly Adora had some other ideas. Catra wasn't sure if it was her, the lighting, the question or the music that caused all this, but she was rolling with it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much for keeping it PG, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought to herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Catra you ignorant slut. </span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>The way Adora looked at her now, standing over her in a way that was definitely enticing, still had some warmth to it, though. It was clear by now that whatever Adora had in mind encompassed a bit more than just cuddles and good music--and Catra was cool with that--but the same compassionate, loving radiance still shone through. Whatever was coming, it was likely going to be lewd and loving in equal measures. Perhaps the cuteness Catra hoped for wasn't being replaced, but merely built on. And then Adora let her towel fall to the floor and any compartmentalizing Catra </span><em><span>might </span></em><span>have been doing</span> <span>utterly </span><em><span>collapsed</span></em><span>. Her body just overwhelmed her, from her platinum hair to her chiseled abs to her delicious womanhood. </span></p><p>
  <span>"Telegraphing all my moves, huh?" Adora smiled seductively, clearly relishing Catra's bewilderment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, uh, er, yeah, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> expecting that, to be quite honest," Catra fumfered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, me neither," Adora leaned over the bed and straddled her lover, looking like a goddess against the setting sun, "Heat of the moment, I guess." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Suits me just fine," Catra purred, both literally and figuratively, as she reeled Adora in closer and let their lips meet with unmatched fluidity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra let herself lose control and Adora was upon her in an instant. All she could think about was how perfect Adora was, every muscle and curve coalesced into a whole that never failed to mystify her. For all her talk of comparing Adora to a goddess, she truly did want to worship her, to love her in every way, to make Adora feel like the powerful woman she was. So Catra relinquished herself to Adora, letting the Princess guide her hand down from the nape of neck across her shoulder and onto her breast. Catra responded by gently curling her hand around it, her thumb just barely tracing the nipple. Adora herself moved a hand across her lover's own chest, lifting her top to about her chin and proceeding to plant tiny kisses among the exposed fur, skin and sensitive zones. The reciprocity was perfect, somehow pleasuring them both while Adora called the shots. She often did, and she was an absolute natural at it. Prince was practically howling at this point, and clearly his lyrics were gifting Adora with the same cavalier confidence that Catra gleaned from them two days prior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lower,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Adora growled in Catra's ear, as if from nowhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wh-what?" Catra, still lost in the intoxication of Adora's own efforts on her, slurred out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>lower…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Adora chose to elaborate further on this instruction by taking Catra's hand off her breast and guiding it between her thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, everything in Catra was practically running on autopilot. She hardly needed any further direction, simply bringing her middle and ring fingers together on Adora's clit and gently rubbing in tiny circles. Hearing Adora quietly whimper at her touch was so fulfilling, a small acknowledgement that her worship was well received. Catra was more than happy to give more, her fingers already slick with her lover's wetness. She longed for the moment when she could pull that hand away and taste Adora, licking her fingers and savoring every single moment. Times like these made her glad her claws could slide in and out, lest she be unable to play with her lover--no, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddess</span>
  </em>
  <span>--in such a way. All the while, Adora's composure was as steadfast as ever; she was so strong, even during an act like this. She was someone who barely acknowledged what she wanted in the past, but now she just took it wherever it came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're getting good at this assertiveness thing, babe," Catra remarked, hands still busy caressing Adora's thoroughly dampened womanhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You definitely make it fun, that's for--</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>--sure," Adora moaned, voice punctuated by abrupt outcries of pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that just served to turn Catra on even further. Adora's approval was like some kind of drug, and hearing her omission that all this was fun built on the high. Of course, the fact that Adora was enjoying Catra's touch was apparent; the acknowledgement just took her further, though. That, and Adora had moved on from gently teasing Catra's tits to simply pulling her shirt off the rest of the way and laying into her. The act was lovely enough on its own, but then Adora got this odd, playful smirk on her face. Something was up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what we could do?" Adora asked over ragged breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra bit her lip in anticipation at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm all ears," Catra said, fingers teasing away from Adora's clit to her opening. She just hinted at it ever so gently, but she thought she'd save anything more for after this little proposal of Adora's. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wanna maybe try...y'know…" Adora started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You getting shy on me?" Catra teased, knowing full well what she meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, come on. We've been talking about it all week." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tsk tsk, babe. Assertiveness, remember? So come on, say it," Catra snarled, leaning into her bratty side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I shouldn't have to," Adora tried to maintain her composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say it," Catra let her fingers do more than tease, sliding one and then the other into Adora's dripping opening, "Say you want my cock in you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora gasped, damn near doubling over from Catra's little persuasive move. If this didn't work, nothing would. Catra gestured her fingers in a beckoning motion ever-so-subtly, eliciting more whines from Adora, until eventually she couldn't take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I want your cock in me,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Adora whimpered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That wasn't so hard now was it, you almighty idiot?" Catra said with a wry, satisfied chuckle, "Happy to oblige, by the way." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Catra had had concerns about both forcing the moment and her womanhood's own abilities, it all seemed completely irrelevant now. On one hand, their lovemaking had taken shape so naturally it had taken Catra off guard. On the other, she felt pretty damn amazed at how hard she was; it almost never got like this, but she guessed that the music and the surprise of it all just set the mood too well. Things really couldn't have gone better. Now all she had to do was go through the rest of the deed without overthinking or getting anxious. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just concentrate on your breathing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Catra thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>That, and how amazing she looks with her hair down and her clothes off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was at the nightstand, tearing something made of cardboard--it was the box, it had to be. Catra looked over at the laptop for a split second; "Purple Rain" was almost over, and predicting the next track was impossible seeing as how it was set to shuffle. She decided to let it keep playing, but with the mouse cursor hovering on the pause key. Banging to King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard was not something she could see herself doing. Most of the other stuff was fair game, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looked up from the screen only to get hit in the face with something vaguely metallic and unidentifiable. It didn't hurt--the object wasn't all that big--but she was left a bit disoriented, looking down to where it fell in hopes of identifying it. Just as she suspected, it was a purple foil-wrapped condom. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>These things look ridiculous up close, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Need some help?" Adora's voice came from above her, looking down at Catra from the bedside. She was just so strong and beautiful and perfect, and this--all of this--was happening. Yet another dimension of Catra's new life that felt borderline dream-like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah, Adora, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>am gonna need those strong arms of yours to help me tear open this tiny wrapper," Catra rolled her eyes, smirking, "Long as you're offering, though, I wouldn't mind if you helped me out of my shorts…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say no more," Adora laughed, proceeding to kiss downwards all the way from Catra's breasts to her belly and finally to her abdomen. The gesture culminated with the Princess grabbing hold of Catra's bottoms by the waist and pulling hard, sending both her shorts and undergarments clean off in one fluid tug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both exposed before each other now. The lights outside were dimming, fading from orange to blue and black. There would be nothing but their own eyes to illuminate their act. Adora looked beautiful all the same, though, and Catra was unquestionably ready for her. Or she would be, anyway, once she was done fumbling with that odd thing in the mauve foil. It had been a while since she'd even practiced with one of these things, and evidently her slight confusion was making Adora giggle under her breath. Nonetheless, Catra did manage to roll it over her length, giving an awkward thumbs-up once she was sure she'd gotten it on fully. She didn't even have time to say anything or make sure Adora understood, seeing as how Adora pounced on her less than a second later and flipped the two effortlessly so that Catra was straddling her. Nevermind the raw power in a move like that, or the fact that Adora could execute on it like it was something as simple as taking a breath; noticing how Adora looked, lying on her back and looking up at her, and how she'd barely ever seen her like this was taking up all of her attention. If there was any doubt or anxiety left in her, any vague recollection of a nightmare, it was being silenced by the absolute scream of wanting in her head. This had to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm...not sure if I…" Catra breathed, remembering for a second amidst the wanting that she had almost no experience with doing this particular thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wanna stop?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"N-no, I mean," Catra shrugged, "Kinda new at this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Well, hey," Adora took hold of Catra's most sensitive area, eliciting a quiet whine from her lover, "Me too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt Adora's hands guide her somewhere warm and slick. That could only mean one thing. There was a moment of slight pushing, but after that she moved fluidly. This was definitely happening. Catra's brain felt almost short circuited. The feeling wasn't dysphoria or anxiety or anything like that, surprisingly enough; all Catra felt was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Adora…" she purred as she felt herself slide inwards. She just couldn't resist. It made Adora gasp, so it couldn't have been all that stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued from there, Catra moving herself back and forth in her partner's pussy and listening to her restrained moans. She brought her arms around her lover, embracing her in full, settling in near her neck and kissing her there with unrivaled gentleness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh Catra...oh my god…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could hear Adora softly whimpering to herself, crying out for her, and it was almost too much. Her claws released slightly in excitation, scratching Adora's shoulder's just a bit. There was no blood or pain, thankfully. If anything, judging by the gasp it elicited, Adora liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra...why did you think you'd disappoint me?" Adora asked, the sudden utterance of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually taking Catra aback, "This is so good…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra agreed, but felt to say so was simply unnecessary. The pressure, the warmth, the feeling of Adora's toned frame under her...and that was another thing. Adora was an almost permanent top. Her status as the dominant one went unquestioned, at least most of the time. It made logical sense given she was a tall, imposing slab of pure soldier, but now she was just...letting herself be vulnerable. It was so jarring to Catra, almost adding to just how wonderful all this was. It wasn't that this particular act was superior, of course, but if this was something that helped Adora feel vulnerable then that was perfectly right by her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh Catra, oh my love, my kitten...</span>
  <em>
    <span>mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>...please, don't stop…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised herself up with the sound of Adora's cry, letting her hands come to hers and holding on tight, their eyes meeting for a moment amidst the dim light. Any of Adora's remaining bravado had fallen away completely, her eyes full of longing. Even though she was on top for once, however, Catra felt no urge to dominate; she just wanted to be here with her girl, to enjoy the moment. Tame Impala's "The Less I Know The Better" was on, and despite its catchiness Catra thought it all background noise compared to Adora's soft moans. The two continued for what felt like a wonderful, soft eternity, Catra letting herself fall back into Adora again and again in a natural glide, until one and then the other reached their climax. First Adora, then Catra minutes later. They'd ran through multiple songs by then--thankfully no King Gizz--but at that point the only sound in the room seemed to be hastened breathing and their final outcries, full of emotion and utterly unrestrained. Catra withdrew herself, paused the playlist with a free hand, and fell back. Even now that it was over, her mind was still all nonsense and desire and </span>
  <em>
    <span>peacefulness</span>
  </em>
  <span> if that was the right word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Catra panted, noticing now the slight beads of sweat across her fur, "That was different." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good different or bad different?" Adora asked, propping her head up with one arm and turning on her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good, obviously. You continue to be an idiot, I see." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Adora let her free arm fall to Catra, tracing little circles in the damp fur of her belly, "I know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who knew you were such a bottom…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? Shut up! I am not! Screw you!" Adora exclaimed, voice aghast with feigned shock. She shoved Catra playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You just did." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Goddammit…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora let herself fall into the bed, resting herself down and snuggling Catra's arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should probably clean yourself up before you get too comfortable, y'know," she suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, definitely. This thing just feels gross now," Catra observed, rolling the now used condom off of herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hurry back!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know it!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra kissed Adora one more time and headed across the hall to the bathroom. She pitched the leftover protection and splashed some soapy water on herself (again, not a great feeling) until things were relatively tidy. She still looked a bit tossed around, but that was just what happened when you made sweet love to your amazing warrior goddess of a girlfriend for an evening. The high from tonight's lovely events was still going for sure, but as Catra stood there and looked in the mirror something felt...off. What she'd just done felt incredibly satisfying, and she'd wanted it without a doubt, but now she just had this weirdness biting at her soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is what you wanted, right? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn't even know what the voice in her head meant by that. She took three conscious breaths, fists clenching and opening to the rhythm of her inhales and exhales. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All you wanted was to get in her pants, wasn't it? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice sounded familiar, like hers mixed with someone else's. She clenched her eyes this time, shutting them as tightly as she could. Just as well, too. Whatever this voice was, it was making her feel inexplicably disgusted with looking at herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You're a freak with a fetish and nothing more. You used this whole stupid persona to prey on her. None of this sham is deserved, and deep down you know it. That's why you repressed it for so long. Even you know you're a threat. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd never had dysphoria manifest like this. She pinched her mouth together now, breathing becoming almost impossible to regulate. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That is why you will never be one of us, abomination. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Enough!" Catra hissed under her breath. She knew that voice now. It wasn't just her own internal monologue. There was another voice, one from her </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreams. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breathing was ragged now. She felt her legs get weak and she slid to the floor, curled in a ball with her thighs close to her chest, her back to the sink. Everything felt wrong. Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong? Should she not have made love to Adora like that? Was it really so evil and twisted? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course it was, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the voice said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>claiming you're a woman and then slinging yourself around like that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You okay in there, hun?" Adora asked from the other side of the door, shocking Catra back into reality for a moment, "Thought I heard you say something." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra got up and went to the door, trying to get herself as contained as she could before opening. She grasped at a final conscious breath as she turned the handle. Adora leaned on the doorframe outside, covering herself with a blanket she'd strewn about her shoulders like some kind of weird cape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You good? You've been gone a while," the Princess observed. She looked really cute, wrapped up with her hair all strewn every which way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe I was on the toilet," Catra said, trying to seem nonchalant and hoping to whatever god there was that Adora would buy that excuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure you were," Adora saw right through it, of course, "What's up? You know you can tell me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra remained silent for a moment. Her face pinched, then relaxed. She found herself ashamed to even make eye contact with Adora for a moment, just staring blankly at the ground without blinking. She tried to centre her breathing again, palms greased with sweat, but it was hopeless. And then it all came forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why me? Wouldn't you rather have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> girl? Better yet, why'd you let me do that to you? Shadow Weaver always told me I was just looking to force myself and my gross, weird body on you, and now I have!" Catra felt the heat rise in her voice. It felt worse hearing the words out loud like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was silence between the two for a moment, Catra still feeling unable to bring herself to look Adora in the eyes. They really were beautiful eyes. They weren't meant for her, though. Serves her right, some transgender freak of nature pining for a lesbian as if that was in any way her domain. She expected that any minute, Adora would come to her senses. That she'd feel appalled at what she'd just let happen to herself. It never did come to pass, though. Instead, Adora reached a hand out and took hold of Catra's, bringing her into a soft hug as she wrapped the blanket around them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't force yourself on me at all. I wanted you very much. Kinda figured that much was obvious, seeing as how you got me screaming your name," Adora had an abrupt, awkward laugh, "Sorry, bad timing. Did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though? Want that, I mean?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hell yeah I did. Or thought so, anyway," Catra found she was beginning to tear up and cursed herself, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dumping this on you. I felt really great the whole time, but things just got emotional for me after." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sometimes sex is like that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess...but still, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra, look at me for a second…" Adora brought a finger to Catra's chin, nudging her up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of Catra didn't want Adora to see her like this, but the rational parts of her brain knew she could trust her. She didn't have to be afraid of being vulnerable. And that was really, really good right about now, because did she ever need it. She looked up at Adora, into those azure pools that were steadfast and enchanting all at once, and felt her cheeks dampen slightly with tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love you for you. I don't need a real girl because you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> a real girl and I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Your body is a girl's body, and you should be free to do whatever you want with it without being judged. I only know what you've told me about how Shadow Weaver used to treat you, but her and her bullshit can go to hell regardless," she put both her hands on Catra's face, caressing her cheeks, "I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, kitten. Do what you want with yourself when you're with me, as long as everyone consents." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn't say a thing for a bit. The words weren't coming, and given how poetic Adora's response was she almost felt self-conscious. She just cuddled into Adora's arms for a bit, letting herself have a moment to calm down. The tears thankfully stopped quite quickly, as did the little voice in her head shouting her down. All she felt was Adora's radiance, and it was very welcome. Now that her head was clear, she felt a lot more confident about her relationship and her actions in the bedroom moments ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Adora," Catra murmured, "For everything." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two held each other there for a bit, standing in the doorway and swaying ever so gently in some sleepy mockup of their dance earlier. The blanket was nice and warm, and feeling Adora's skin against hers again was enough to make Catra purr. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is probably not a good time, but I was gonna ask if you wanted to go again before...this," Adora suggested in a way that was awkward yet somehow endearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll see. Just hold me for now," Catra said, still deciphering some of the last dregs of her emotions; at the same time, she was a little tempted to test the length of her own refractory period, especially with a clear head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you maybe wanna come back to bed, at least?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Little drafty out here, even with this cover. Come on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they lay back down for a bit, entwined in the dark with nothing but silence and each other for company. Catra looked back on the events of earlier a few more times in her head, weighed in against those intrusive thoughts of hers, and found she'd made sense of it all in relation to herself for now. She'd think about it and mostly smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They did end up going again. She didn't feel ashamed of her body again that night, or what she had with Adora. Adora chose her, she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her girl, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and as such she was going to keep loving her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To keep worshipping her.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey everyone! Bow's playlist/"Best Friends Mix" is a real thing I created while writing this, but since I don't feel comfortable disclosing my identity (which is linked to my Spotify account) I'll ask if anyone maybe wants to see it and then paste the song list in the next Chapter's notes section. I hope this chapter wasn't too uncomfortable for anyone. As I said, it reflects predominantly my own interrogations of my sexuality as a transfemme person, but those experiences are 100% my own and I do not claim to speak for anyone else. Dysphoria is a different ride for everyone, and I acknowledge that what I might be okay with might be absolutely nauseating for another transfemme. </p><p>Best wishes, </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. If You Give A Cat Some Vodka</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catra and Adora go out for a night on the town with Scorpia and Perfuma. Scorpia and Catra compete for who can down the most shots while Adora and Perfuma catch up (they can't drink as designated drivers) and end up on the topic of Adora's prior emotional night with Catra. What follows somehow culminates in a drunken, yet somehow still very romantic, karaoke rendition of an iconic Prince song by Catra. Also, did I mention Scorpia and Perfuma have a baby now? Figured we oughta pepper that in here.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>While no one has pried about it yet, I figured I should share Bow's playlist with y'all anyway so you have something cool to listen to as ambience for this whole cringey mess of a fanfic. The man has good taste, what can I say? </p><p>Purple Rain - Prince <br/>Africa - Toto <br/>Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen <br/>Mr. Brightside - The Killers <br/>Nuclear - Mike Oldfield <br/>(Don't Fear) The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult <br/>Porno - Arcade Fire <br/>The Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala <br/>Let It Happen - Tame Impala <br/>Land of Confusion - Genesis <br/>Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys <br/>R U Mine - Arctic Monkeys <br/>Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High - Arctic Monkeys <br/>Careless Whisper - Nataly Dawn <br/>Elegia - New Order <br/>Asylums For The Feeling - Silent Poets<br/>Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys <br/>The Man Who Sold The World - Midge Ure <br/>Feels Like We Can Only Go Backwards - Tame Impala <br/>Diamond Dogs - David Bowie <br/>Elephant - Tame Impala <br/>Take On Me - A-ha <br/>Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand <br/>Under Cover of Darkness - The Strokes <br/>Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes <br/>Redbone - Childish Gambino/Donald Glover <br/>You're In Love With A Psycho - Kasabian <br/>Knights of Cydonia - Muse <br/>Big Fig Wasp - KGATLW <br/>Gamma Knife - KGATLW <br/>Road Train - KGATLW <br/>The Trooper - Iron Maiden <br/>Don't Stop Me Now - Queen <br/>I Want To Break Free - Queen <br/>Seven Seas of Rhye - Queen <br/>Hammer To Fall - Queen <br/>We Are The Champions - Queen <br/>Rebel Yell - Billy Idol <br/>Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears <br/>Cat People - David Bowie<br/>Starman - David Bowie <br/>Dancing With Myself - Billy Idol <br/>Total Eclipse Of The Heart - Bonnie Tyler <br/>Would That I - Hozier <br/>All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix <br/>Hold Me Now - Thompson Twins <br/>Life On Mars? - David Bowie <br/>99 Luftballons - Nena <br/>The Moment - Tame Impala <br/>Holocene - Bon Iver <br/>Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear <br/>Borderline - Tame Impala</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 3: If You Give a Cat Some Vodka </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>my good bitch," Catra slurred as she slammed yet another empty shot glass on the bar, "Is why the Lord Protector ain't nothin' to fuck with!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia sighed and slumped her shoulders with exaggerated disappointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay, I yield! You win again…" the imposing-yet-soft scorpion princess groaned, "Think if I have any more I'm gonna toss my cookies." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, well, y’know, that’s fair,” Catra paused for a moment, slumped her head down and let out an abrupt belch, “Also, </span>
  <em>
    <span>woohoo! Undefeated! Suck my feminine dick!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the bar, Adora watched her girlfriend's inebriated antics with amusement. She and Scorpia had been seeing who could knock back the most shots of some watered-down fruity vodka drink, and Catra was a particularly sore winner. Evidently not that bad at holding her liquor, too, although it was still clear she was quite tipsy. No drunkenness at the dedicated drivers' table, though. They did, however, have two pounds of chicken wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is she always this...</span>
  <em>
    <span>boisterous </span>
  </em>
  <span>when she's drunk?" Perfuma asked from across the table. She wasn't a dedicated driver or anything, but still didn't drink as a matter of principle. Apparently marijuana was totally okay, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Basically, yeah," Adora said, mouthful of chicken, "You want some of these?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm vegan, remember?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, right. Makes sense, I guess." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not a moral high ground thing or anything. I'm just doing it because my Scorpia is and I didn't want her to feel lonely." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was honestly a shocker to Adora. Then again, maybe it was a bit stereotypical and unfair to assume the lady with plant powers was vegan. Kind of a big assumption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's sweet of you," Adora smiled, corners of her mouth dappled with wing sauce. It was just medium sauce, nothing too extreme but still a bit of a bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I wasn't so in love with that woman," Perfuma put her hands together and then gestured them downwards at the table, "rack of ribs, girl. Swear to God." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora laughed fairly hard at that, almost enough for her to believe </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>was drunk too, for a second. She looked over her shoulder across the bar at the Lord Drunkard herself, seeing that she was still seemingly shouting with braggadocio while Scorpia had her head and arms on the bar. The two did this same stupid drinking game every time they came to this old pub, and every time the outcome was the same. Still, it was good to get out of the house and go socialize, even if Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>getting shitfaced with her old comrade. Adora didn't find it particularly embarrassing; during the war, she'd been hit with a First Ones device that turned her red and also sort of drunk for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Still good to see you guys again, by the way. How's Station 17 these days?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Station 17, formerly known as the Fright Zone, was currently the smallest EPG settlement. That said, it was set to become the biggest. When Scorpia pitched the idea to reclaim her ancestral territory after it had been reduced to little more than a war-ravaged crater of decayed Horde architecture and loyalist stragglers, no one thought it would be worth it. All they had there was steel and soot, so why even bother? It would be like if Earth-That-Was tried to reclaim Chernobyl. Someone stepped forward to vouch for her, however. She was a high-ranking Minister of Agriculture, someone who was sure a terraforming campaign in the region would go off without a hitch provided she was overseeing it. Perfuma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's good. It's going to be good. I miss home, though...underground hydroponics just aren't the same as Plumeria. Kinda makes me worry for Blossom," Perfuma sighed, voice full optimism and apprehension simultaneously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, how's the little one, anyway?" Adora asked, speaking of Perfuma and Scorpia's daughter Blossom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, she's wonderful! She's almost talking in full sentences and it's like whoa, when did that happen? Took a bit of convincing to get Scorpia on board with leaving her with a sitter for the night, but I think she's in good hands," Perfuma lit up every time Blossom was mentioned. The kid was a total surprise, but the two had been taking it in stride by all accounts. Adora couldn't ever imagine her and Catra doing that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the opposite side of the bar, Catra couldn't imagine herself doing much of anything in particular. Her mind was thoroughly pickled and felt almost entirely vacant. Words were just coming out like a firehose and it was definitely excessive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Ey, Scorps, I love you, man," she drawled, an arm thrown around her friend and drinking buddy, "I am...I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry for being such a...such a...what's the word I'm looking for? Help me out here, bro." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, rapscallion?" Scorpia stumbled over each letter, really making it known she was a lightweight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off, that has too many syllables! You made that word up!" Catra shouted, all concepts of inside voices nonsense now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would 'bitch' work?" A barkeep, who had been present throughout most of Scorpia and Catra's drunken misadventure, asked out of the blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, random citizen! Kinda sexist, but whatever! I'm too drunk to be feminist right now!" Catra awkwardly pointed a finger gun at the barkeep only to almost fall forward from leaning her arm too far, "Scorpia, bro, I am sorry for being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You, madam, are a beautiful double fucking rainbow cinnamon roll and you deserve </span>
  <em>
    <span>great things</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like that cutie pie of a daughter you had with Per...Persimmons? Persephone? The, uh, the other trans chick with the good weed, that one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, tiger! 'Twas over three years ago! We all make mistakes! And yes, my wife and daughter are the best." Scorpia shouted, grinning like an idiot and red in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are too good to me, my bug-like friend." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, because I'm your bro, bro." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're my bro?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, bro!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bro…" Catra, somehow moved to tears by this nigh-monosyllabic drunken dialogue, whispered with her eyes watering, "B-bring it in, bro?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, like I always say," Scorpia threw her fairly sizable clawed arms open, knocking over a glass but thankfully not breaking it, "I give great hugs!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two embraced in what probably felt like a heartfelt moment, but to the rest of the pub's patrons looked mostly like two crying drunks who ran into each other at top speed. It was kind of sweet, in a very pathetic sort of way. Catra was at the moment too boozed to really give it much thought, but she did really want to mend things with Scorpia. Chumming with Perfuma helped, but there was still some tension between the two when they were alone rather than in a group. Apparently not enough tension to prevent them from getting stoned or hammered together, though. Maybe that made it easier somehow. The road to recovery was going to be long, bumpy, and about as straight as Catra's sexuality (which is to say about as straight as a rattlesnake on top of a subwoofer in an earthquake on a boat). Until the day when the road came to something of an end, drunkenly crying and hugging would have to be a step on the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora and Perfuma were watching the developing situation from their table, Adora somehow managing to have halved the contents of her basket of wings without getting any sauce on her jacket. It was the same red one she'd worn </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>through the Horde war, ergo if she was gonna spill wing sauce on something this'd be the thing to spill it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're certainly...getting along. How are things with you and my little sis, anyway?" Perfuma asked. That nickname she gave Catra--doubtlessly meant to signify some sense of shared family within their status as transgender--always made Adora stifle a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're, well...we're great, honestly," Adora said. Thinking about what happened a few nights ago, it would've been hard to answer any other way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, I know that face!" Perfuma teased rather cryptically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What face?" Adora asked, admittedly knowing she'd been twitching into a slight smirk at her thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The one you're making right now, obviously! You and Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>got up to something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, didn't you?" Perfuma asked, talking with her hands a great deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was about 99% sure that in this case, </span>
  <em>
    <span>got up to something</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a euphemism for </span>
  <em>
    <span>slept together, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a runaround one at that. It felt almost high school levels of immature, gossiping about sex and talking about it like some reason for alarm. Besides, it seemed kind of redundant to make a big deal about it. Catra and Adora had been doing the nasty in one form or another since their first awkward release of sexual tension at the end of the last war. That was about three years of </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting up to something</span>
  </em>
  <span> together. Seemed pretty pedestrian to start bragging about something like that. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>experimenting, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean, I'm not saying anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span>…" Adora trailed off, stuffing her mouth with another wing in the hopes that it'd be enough to get her out of talking about this for a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god, I'm right on the money here! You totally did! What happened? Er, if you're comfortable sharing, that is," Perfuma asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, I'm sure it'd be awkward," Adora mumbled, still chewing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I gotta stop doing that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora! I'll have you know that Scorpia and I are </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>sex positive. This is a judgement free zone." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I gathered that when you knocked her up less than a year after you started dating." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A fact we're very proud of!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure," Adora laughed dryly, dropping a few gnawed bones into the wing basket, "Well, I mean, I probably shouldn't get into it, but if you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> curious...there may have been some </span>
  <em>
    <span>slight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, er, how do I put this? P-in-V stuff." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfuma's gaze widened to owl-like proportions. Adora had no idea why that particular revelation was so shocking. She would've thought that the topic may have made Perfuma dysphoric, but that didn't make much sense given she and Scorpia produced a kid; far as Adora knew, that hadn't happened through IVF or anything of the sort. Still, the Plumerian princess looked completely awestruck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well! I dunno what I expected, but I have to admit it wasn't that. Guess she's getting more comfortable with herself, in a way. Progress of a sort," she surmised, looking lost in thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, she had some mixed feelings about it. We still had fun, though," Adora looked downwards, "Uh, you mind if we change the subject? She probably wouldn't feel so comfortable with me saying anything else." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh gosh, of course! I'm being way too nosey! I wonder if she's taking good care of my wife over there," Perfuma said as she looked across the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia and Catra still had one arm over each other's shoulders, having transitioned temporarily from obnoxious, loud drunk to soft, quiet drunk. Keyword </span>
  <em>
    <span>temporarily</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bar person!" Catra screeched at the barkeep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?" They asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can...can I have more shots please?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've definitely had enough, honey. 'Sides, you heard your big friend there. I don't want her puking all over the place." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ugh, fine…" Catra groaned, the words blurring together in her drunken enunciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't see why you'd have an issue with me puking since this place is already a dump!" Scorpia horned in. Catra almost burst out laughing considering that Scorpia never would've said something like that while sober. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah! </span>
  </em>
  <span>This bar sucks!" Catra hollered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know I'm the manager, right?" The barkeep said, just figuring they'd drop that bomb now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then get better feng shui pal, because your bar's a dump!" Catra slur-yelled, smiling like she'd just told the most clever joke imaginable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's total crap, dude!" Scorpia added. Catra still couldn't get over Scorpia acting spiky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you rather I throw you folks out?" The barkeep asked with a snide grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Throw me out? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you know who I am?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra paused, belching again, "Seriously, can someone help me out? Booze...make...thoughts...not...good. Who am I, again?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why, you're Lord Protector Catra. Chief military advisor and bodyguard to Adora, the Princess of Power better known by her </span>
  <em>
    <span>nom de guerre </span>
  </em>
  <span>She-Ra. Hero of the Great Horde War. Top ranking officer in the Royal Army, expert in covert warfare, close combat, multiple different blades and firearms, yatta yatta. Oh, and you're also Adora's main squeeze. Did I leave anything out, sweetheart?" The barkeep listed off suddenly, counting items off on her fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, right. Always nice to--</span>
  <em>
    <span>hic</span>
  </em>
  <span>--meet a fan. Don't expect any autographs, though!" Catra demanded, tripping over the word 'autographs'. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow, you know your stuff! How'd you do that?" Scorpia asked, seeming to be genuinely flabbergasted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barkeep just laughed quietly to themselves, fiddling with a glass they were drying and looking away without a word. After a quick pause, they spoke up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm a member of an interplanetary insurgency studying up on the weaknesses of the Etherian leadership so our glorious commander can bring us out of darkness and crush the decadent EPG once and for all," they said with a worryingly deadpan voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them stood in silence for a moment, eyes practically unblinking and bodies unmoving, until all of them started to laugh nervously. This nervous laughing slowly turned to normal laughing, which then turned to raucous laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, man...nah, I'm fucking with you girls. I'm just a history buff," the barkeep cackled, catching their breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Too bad you couldn't use those history books to learn how to make a less boring bar...I'm going to go pee due to boredom. And also due to having </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too many shots for my own good," Scorpia announced, still teasing the barkeep about their admittedly drab-as-hell decorative sense. It was literally just an old brick building with a bar in the middle and barely any furnishing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Washroom's to the left of the tables. Try not to break anything," the barkeep explained as they point in the direction they described. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia started for the washroom, froze, and then looked back at Catra from a few feet away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, do you see it?" She asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See what?" Catra wasn't even sure if she'd be able to discern whatever detail this was anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Over there, by the tables?" Scorpia pointed to some distant object in the corner of the room. It looked a bit like a computer of some sort, but Catra could hardly tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't follow." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They have a frickin' karaoke machine!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That sounds like something you'd cook eggs with." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No no, it's like…'kay, remember when we were driving back from Station 17 the one time and we sang along to "Bohemian Rhapsody" and it was hilariously terrible?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How could I not?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, anyway, try to imagine a device that's made specifically for that purpose." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seems like a weird machine but okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I gotta go, but you should totally go up there and serenade Adora or some shit! That'd be awesome!" Scorpia started walking towards the bathroom again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, you should go for it. I bet Adora will think it's cute," the barkeep suggested, though internally they just wanted to see how this ridiculousness would play out and were just trying to egg the very drunk Catra on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Y'know what? I like the way you guys think! Thanks! And, uh, for the record, I am so sorry I was so mean to you earlier," Catra hastily apologized, heading up so she could walk to the odd singing device. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've had worse," the barkeep reassured her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back at Adora and Perfuma's table, Adora noticed Catra was getting up to head somewhere. After a few moments, it became apparent she was headed their way. Adora thought that Catra was maybe going to sit down and join them--that'd be hilarious, no doubt--but she didn't. Instead, she walked right past them to the other side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where's she headed?" Perfuma asked, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Couldn't tell you," Adora looked down and felt a pang of disappointment at the fact that she was officially out of wings, "If she smashes anything or throws up or whatever I'll just turn into She-Ra and sign stuff until everyone forgets about it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Friend of the proletariat, are we?" Perfuma joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah. Someone's gotta smile for the cameras, and it's definitely not Catra," Adora laughed. She did really care about the people who the EPG governed. Being a leader in any proper, policy-driven way wasn't as easy as surprising fans, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Understandable. Well, you always did know how to work a crowd." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just doing my job…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora hadn't quite figured out just how exactly she'd continue this conversation--maybe more prodding into the Station 17 project or how Blossom was doing--but quickly found she didn't have to. The two of them were distracted by a sudden noise. To Perfuma it probably meant nothing, just some vague guitar chords ringing out, but Adora knew it very well. It was the song from a few nights back, the one that intensified the fire she felt when she looked at Catra. The one that was quickly becoming </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> song. "Purple Rain". </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, god. Is she going to do drunk karaoke? We'd better get her out of there," Perfuma, visibly concerned, suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, let's see how this turns out…" Adora said, wide-eyed and clearly interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was expecting...well, just about what you'd expect from drunk karaoke, really. She figured Catra would awkwardly yell and slur her way through the song, off key the whole time, and then fall over. That wasn't even close to what happened, though. Instead, Catra nailed every note, every emotion, every intonation with perfection, almost as if she didn't have half a bottle of vodka coursing through her system. It was just now occurring to Adora that she'd never actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra sing, and even within such a ridiculous context like this she had an incredibly elegant voice. After this, she was going to have to remember to ask her to sing more often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole thing conjured up memories beyond the ones a few nights ago, running her through the highlights of these last years. Prince's words almost blended into Catra's, and they almost expressed all those repressed feelings she had rather articulately. Standing there in her leather jacket with the light in her eyes and her tail flicking smartly, Catra did truly look like an Earth-That-Was rockstar in addition to sounding like one; from where Adora was standing, all of that was definitely sexy. It was cheesy and ridiculous as all hell--all the warmth of nostalgia made her forget for a moment that her girlfriend was in fact performing karaoke drunk in the blandest little bar in Station 9--but kind of wonderful in a weird way. That was life sometimes, so to speak. She didn't say a word throughout the whole thing, almost in shock at just how well executed and strangely bewitching the whole performance was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, after the last note had rang out and the stunning performance had concluded, Catra fell over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora needed a minute to process what had happened, still a little hypnotized from Catra's enrapturing voice. Hurriedly, her and Perfuma got to their feet and rushed over to the disappointingly low excuse for a stage at the other end of the bar. Behind them a still-drunk and now very confused Scorpia emerged from the water closet, although the two were too distracted to notice. Catra had thankfully not fallen off the stage, and it seemed like nothing was visibly broken or bleeding. Adora and Catra's eyes met for all of half a second before the Lord Protector fluttered her eyes shut and winced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Salutations, Adora. Wait, shit, that's not right, let me do it again," Catra cleared her throat dramatically, "Greetings, Adora. Aw, fuck, that isn't right either. Okay, okay, one more go. 'Ey, wassup Adora? Oh for...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fiddlesticks!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra bent herself up a bit, looking past Perfuma and Adora at the still-baffled Scorpia on the other side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You broke me!" Catra snapped, jabbing a finger impotently in Scorpia's direction. Scorpia merely squinted in confusion and shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay, sis? Do you have brain damage? Should I call an ambulance? I'm calling an ambulance!" Perfuma panicked, always the mom friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Parmesan, when the hell did you get here? And no, I don't have brain damage," Catra slurred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're quite intoxicated, so I'm going to just chalk your...</span>
  <em>
    <span>uncouth</span>
  </em>
  <span> manner of speech up to that," Perfuma looked at Adora with eyes brimming with worry, "Should we?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora shook her head, pushing past and leaning in closer. Her face was close enough to Catra's that a well placed push would've made them kiss. Her face was </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>close enough that she could smell the booze on Catra like a lingering bioweapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Catra," Adora murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Goddammit, that's what I was gonna say! On the tip of my tongue the whole time! Fuck!" Catra shouted to herself before taking a sharp inhale and smiling at Adora crookedly, "'Scuse me. What'd you think of the performance, my lovely golden labrys?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora paused to question what the heck a 'labrys' was or why she was one, but then got back to the matter at hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was beautiful. I can tell you really poured your heart into it," she said, maintaining her gentleness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aw, you're just saying that…" Catra blushed, though it may have been the booze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not. I'm really not. We'll talk more about it when you're not quite as...er, interstellar. Let's get you home, okay?" Adora suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Home? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hell, we just got here!" Catra groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora looked at Perfuma, then noticed Scorpia in the background. She waved the princess of Station 17 over to come join the huddle on the sad little stage and the three of them promptly got to work making up their minds about what to do with the rest of the evening. At this point, the subject was all but verbally agreed on. Any debate would be merely rhetorical. Festivities were pretty much done, and what festivities they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You guys think it's about time to head home?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither Scorpia nor Perfuma argued, merely nodding in agreement. The answer seemed crystal clear to Adora. She slung Catra over her shoulder and rose to her feet. It seemed she was always getting excuses to pick her girlfriend up, and she wasn't complaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our hotel's a block away. We should be fine," Perfuma turned from Adora and looked at her wife with concern, "You gonna be okay, love?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, y'know me, babe. I'm a lightweight. I just need some sleep and I'll be right as rain," Scorpia put a hand--pincer?--around the Plumerian's shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about you two?" Perfuma asked Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, we'll be okay. We always are," Adora reassured her friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, then we'd best be off. All of us," Perfuma said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four of them headed for the door, the two sober women supporting their boozed up lovers. Stepping out into the cool night air was somewhat refreshing after the stuffiness and off-kilter lighting of the bar. As Adora stepped out into the night, she looked behind her at the barkeep behind their wooden counter one last time. Something was very off about that person, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. They were practically leering at the four of them, looking a bit like Alex DeLarge. Adora assumed it was probably just a bit of pent-up frustration from observing Scorpia and Catra's inebriation and left the thought there. The two couples parted ways at the door and headed for their respective vehicles, exchanging omissions of having a fun night and expressing excitement about the big VE Day party coming up. That was about it. Adora kind of felt a little bad for them, having to pick up Blossom tomorrow morning while all tired out (and hung over, in Scorpia's case), but they loved that kid to pieces and she knew they'd face that challenge with the biggest smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was stirring too, though she was getting hit with some fairly overbearing sleepiness and was barely lucid at that point. As her and Adora started for the car, though, she saw snatches of something familiar strewn across the facade of the bar. It was a phrase, scrawled in crimson spray paint, that she knew she'd seen somewhere before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FALSE PRINCESS. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Must be...a pretty popular band," Catra mumbled, face squished into the shoulder of Adora's coat. It smelled somehow nostalgic, and made her feel kind of warm and tingly, though some of that may have been booze-related. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shh. Just rest, kitten," Adora whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mkay," Catra groaned, barely even coherent, and slowly nodded off into an uneven sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Getting Catra out of the car and up the stairs to their bedroom was a cinch for someone built like Adora. Every now and then, she'd mumble incoherently or say something like 'Ah, good evening senator, I'm ready for my closeup', and Adora would giggle to herself and keep moving. When they got to the bedroom, Adora felt a little odd around the idea of getting Catra out of her clothes and into something more bedtime-ready--getting her undressed while she couldn't consent was a very major no-no--but decided she could at least take her jacket off. A flannel--did Catra own any shirts that </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren't </span>
  </em>
  <span>flannels?--and ripped jeans didn't look like the comfiest pajamas, but they'd have to do for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You taking my clothes off, Adora?" Catra mumbled, slipping into wakefulness for a second, "That's pretty gay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra, we've been dating for almost three years. And the only thing that's coming off is your coat," Adora explained, draping the coat over their dresser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Three years. Three years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Three</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Catra seemingly toyed with the words, swishing them around in her mouth like wine, "Hey, Adora?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, kitten?" Adora asked, kicking her pants off and climbing into bed beside Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just wanted to say I'm really in love with you. Proud of us, too. For making this work so long, that is," Catra said in very possibly the clearest voice she'd had all night, "And also you have world-class lady bits and your butt's cute." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora giggled at that last bit--also blushing just a bit--and felt a bit shocked at how eloquent all of that was. Hearing it out loud was nice. It didn't feel like much in the minutiae of day-to-day Station 9 life, but three years was a pretty awesome milestone considering where they'd once been at. Pretty fucking awesome indeed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, honey," Adora cuddled into Catra, having no trouble overlooking the alcohol stink, "I'm very in love with you too, and I return all your sentiments." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even the butt one?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>the butt one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuckin' fantastic, babe. G'night. I'll see you tomorrow." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. Goodnight, kitten." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora let herself settle in to just how downright pleasant the reality of spooning Catra was. Sure, her tail and floofy mane of hair kind of made it awkward, but they also made the Lord Protector even cuter. Sleep was upon Adora in a matter of moments, playing her out to the thoughts of Catra singing "Purple Rain" over and over in her head. All the while, there was an accompaniment of 'Three years, three years, three years'. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Adora awoke at some indeterminate point in the middle of the night--or perhaps it was early morning, all things considered--after catching a snippet of some sort of weird noise. It sounded like some sort of wet squelching, like boots slogging through thick mud. That was all certainly uncomfortable. What was even more uncomfortable is that when she looked around in the dark, Catra didn't seem to be in bed. Adora reached out a hand to see if it was maybe just a trick of the light or if Catra had just wrapped herself up in covers, but neither was the case. Catra was missing, leaving only a bit of a peppering of sweat on the sheets. Had something happened? Was she okay? Could this have been some sort of political assassination? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra?" Adora called out in a strained, sleepy voice, "Catra, are you there?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The initial surge of anxiety calmed down a little after she settled back into the waking world. Catra probably just went to the bathroom or to go get some painkillers for a headache. As it turned out, however, that would turn out </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the case. The true answer was far more ridiculous. This much became certain to Adora once she saw Catra poke her head up over the side of the bed, apparently having rolled off the edge and onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Adora," Catra said in the most weirdly suspicious manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, hi," Adora rubbed her eyes, adjusting to the dark, "Why are you on the floor?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm...I can't actually remember, but that's not important, babe. We've got more pressing matters to attend to," Catra said with utter seriousness, though it seemed vaguely tinged with humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's like 3 AM. What 'pressing matters' could we possibly have to deal with?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, y'see, umm...this rug." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Erm, w-would you say you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>attached to this rug?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno, not particularly. Bought it at a flea market. Why?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, oh god, it's...it's the funniest thing," Catra yammered, "This dude broke into our room, puked on the rug, and then bolted. Weird, huh? Don't worry, I'll catch him. Got the ol' service pistol tucked under our dresser." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How the hell did she think I was going to buy this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora thought to herself, putting her palm to her face for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You threw up on the carpet--" Adora started, but was cut off by a suddenly uproarious Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I threw up on the fucking carpet!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Passenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catra, recovering from a raucous night of booze-fuelled misadventures and Prince serenades, awakens to realize she has therapy today. Adora does her best to get her back on her feet in time for the appointment she's determined to attend. Will a protein bar, a painkiller and a damn good cup of coffee be enough to get the Lord Protector back to her usual, rogueish-but-well-meaning self? Or will her continued, endless quest for self-love end here with the abruptness of the final chapter of Halo 2? You do the math, dear reader.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 4: The Passenger </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra awoke the next morning feeling a little similar to how she felt when she used to sleep near Horde howitzers. Actually, to compare this hangover to those would be an insult to the howitzers. Years of mud, guns and gore and she'd never had a case of tinnitus on par with the one she got with this hangover. The only thing slightly worse was the headache, and the fact that her limbs all felt like they'd been flattened. It wasn't remotely fair. By now, she'd probably pissed the majority of her previous night's drinking out, so why the hell did this have to drag on for so long? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra lay in bed, sprawled out every which way, and let out a prolonged, low groan of...well, something between pain and disappointment. She had a feeling that at some point she was going to have to have a talk with Scorpia about partying too hard. Catra figured this sort of pub hopping happened scarcely enough that it didn't count as "substance abuse" per se, but it wasn't really something she was interested in courting further. From now on, Catra was going to set a one-drink policy for herself. If it meant less ruined rugs and howitzer-sized headaches, that would be the price she'd pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dark roast with almond for Cameron," Adora joked from across the room, knocking on the ajar door. Catra was thankful for both her presence and the coffee she was bringing, but every noise louder than a whisper was making her head pound like a bass drum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hah,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra grunted, not even trying to hide how disenthused she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora sat herself on the side of the bed, legs crossed. She was dressed for jogging, and would likely be heading out for that soon. In stark contrast, Catra felt she had to strain every muscle group to its maximum just to sit up. She swigged the hot, caffeine-and-almond-enriched mug in a move she would've regarded as heretical when not hungover (she always bragged about savoring her coffee in proper pretentious foodie fashion). Her tongue was singed and the scalding, bittersweet liquid burnt at her throat, but she didn't mind. Everything felt numb and she just wanted some tiny sliver of reinvigoration. Looking down at the space between her and Adora, she found a protein bar and a pair of painkillers. Protein bars were mercifully nothing like Horde ration bars, coming in different flavors instead of just different colors that all kind of tasted like tepid, mucousy refuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You got me one of the peanut butter ones," Catra drawled, voice sounding exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know they're your favorite, so duh. Think you can get this down? It might take the edge off," Adora said, stroking Catra's scrunched face gently. Catra let out a weak purr, not even able to conjure her usual tell of happiness or comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm starving, no worries. Assuming I don't throw it back up, that is," Catra took the pill, dry-swallowed it like a mad woman, and followed it with a chaser of multiple rapid mouthfuls of the peanut butter bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hope that gets you on your feet again. You said you had a thing today," Adora mentioned, hand moving from Catra's face to her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra confusedly asked, only for it to hit her moments later, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra had been so caught up in the past few day's events behind her and the VE Day/anniversary party ahead that she'd forgotten one small event. She was set to see her therapist that very day, from 2:30 to 3:30 in the afternoon. Catra loved seeing her therapist and the feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to overcome her trauma, but right now what she'd also love is to nap for a good four to six hours. So, naturally, this was a fairly complicated position to be in. It was still quite early, ergo there was still some time to bounce back, but time was of the essence nonetheless. For Catra, it seemed very unlikely that she'd be able to shake this off in time for the appointment without a lot of rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Therapist, right? I can call and cancel for you if you want. They might ask for your permission for me to do anything, but I can still--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"S'all good, Adora. I should be fine. I'm just gonna nap for a bit, see if I can shake this. You down to drive me later?" Catra asked, the words coming slowly and in a sandpaper-esque tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, for sure! I have some forms to sign before VE Day, but they're tame compared to the stuff from a while ago. Other than that, I'm free as a bird today," Adora kissed Catra's nose, noticing she still smelled faintly of alcohol, "I don't think I've had the chance to tell you this, but you have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely </span>
  </em>
  <span>singing voice." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra's memories of the night before came flooding back like a gallon of vodka. The emotional hijinks with Scorpia, the harassment of the poor barkeep, the...well, the "Purple Rain". Catra was half convinced Adora may have been being facetious about her singing voice, until her memory recovered fully. Well, as fully as it could after all that boozing. She kinda nailed it, as memory recalled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, uh, thanks," Catra laughed nervously, "I was in the Horde choir when I was a kid. Guess I didn't forget everything." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, the Horde had a choir?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No fascist cult is complete without one, babe," Catra explained, "So, umm, I can sing. Sort of." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you should sing to me more often. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty hot," Adora requested, her face blushing slightly. It was almost the same sort of blush she had on her cheeks when they made love days ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, nothing to it, really," Catra smiled, more smug than a Crimson Waste gunslinger. In truth, she felt horribly self-conscious about singing; being drunk had just loosened her bolts, so to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, maybe while I'm out for my run, you can browse Bow's playlist some more and find something else to perform for me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just might," Catra was wholly unsure she'd have the energy for such a thing, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a plan, then," Adora leaned in to plant another kiss on Catra's coffee-flavored lips, "Have a good rest, kitten. Hope you're feeling better." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought to herself sardonically. She snorted to herself about that, lying back in the bed and munching the last of her faux-breakfast as she put her coffee mug on the nightstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora waved goodbye and headed for the door. Catra was drawing a blank. Usually she had some sort of long, cryptic simile prepared about how Adora was a mystical badass sexy warrior goddess dominatrix, but today her brain just kinda went 'hehe hi pretty strong lady' and then went to dead air. Maybe there was a little something in there about how Adora had a nice butt. It did look pretty damn good in those sausage casing-tight leggings, and Catra got to watch it </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the way until it was down the stairs and out of sight. Then it was back to howitzer skull for God knows how long. That stupid ibuprofen couldn't kick in fast enough. She should've considered asking if Adora's She-Ra magic could cure hangovers, but it was too damn late now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lay in bed for some vague measurement of time that couldn't have been more than half an hour (Adora hadn't returned yet, and her running always took an hour minimum) but chugged on slower than a turtle made of molasses. Sometimes she'd doze off, other times she'd gingerly sip her coffee and then lie in bed looking at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just what the hell are you gonna tell your shrink, o Lord Protector? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She thought to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>VE Day was a must. It was the most glaring target of them all, coursing through her thoughts like radioactive waste. Catra was hyped and terrified all at once, with both emotions ironically being tied up around the same scenarios: big crowds of people, giant tables with snacks and drinks, loud music, too many creepy fans. Yet it was her and Adora's anniversary, their three-year milestone. That alone brightened the picture. Three years of love, laughs and active healing. She was still mentally pinching herself, thinking at any moment she'd wake up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The events from a few days ago might also be worth running over a bit. Catra usually saved dysphoria talk for when she was hanging out with Perfuma, but it might be worth exploring with the shrink. It just seemed so personal is all, and she didn't want to risk making her poor therapist too squeamish. The emotions behind her long night of hot, heavy loving with Adora were mostly trending towards positive in her mind now, but they remained complex. There was still a feeling of unanswered questions, of ideas she knew were probably pointless to dig at but still felt she needed to air. She deserved to express herself in bed however she chose, that much was true. She deserved pleasure on her own terms. Just to be safe, though, she wanted to recount that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her main goals were set. There was little else left to do except sip some coffee, sink into the bed like a shipwreck and pray to whatever higher power there was that the pain meds would kick in soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kitten? You in there?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra snapped awake, unaware she'd even fallen asleep in the first place. Usually she could never fall back asleep after coffee. This hangover truly was killer, it seemed. However, as she settled back into her body, she felt refreshed. Whatever dark cloud had been conferred upon her by the dark dragon of alcohol had dissipated. Things felt clear and painless now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guess all I needed was food, pills and bed rest, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra internally surmised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Adora. Yeah, I'm here," she said, voice still a sleepy croak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've got about an hour before we should head. How're things with your hangover? Feeling any better?" Adora asked, putting a hand on Catra's shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What hangover? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was all Catra could think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was almost in disbelief at the pain she'd felt a few hours ago. Things had mended themselves so well that her hangover could scarcely be said to have ever occurred at all. Admittedly, her fur felt a bit sweaty--often, after she recovered from some sort of episode of ailment--but other than that she felt pretty terrific. She also felt kind of hungry, though. That made sense, given it was about time for lunch anyway and all she'd had prior was coffee and a protein bar. Couple that with the fact that she'd thoroughly ejected the entire contents of her stomach throughout the prior night and it all added up perfectly. Thankfully, that would be an easy fix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good. Kinda want something to eat, though. Think we have time?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aww, I was hoping we'd get to cuddle a bit before you had to go," Adora huffed with feigned disappointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We can do both. Cheat on your little 'no food in the living room' policy," Catra teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just don't like getting crumbs off the couch...it takes forever." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, come on. Life is short. Get crumbs on the couch." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, just this once, but no drinks, and the next time we clean you're doing the living room." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Deal." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And no nachos." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I'm so good at making them!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not contesting that, but like...crumbs </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere, </span>
  </em>
  <span>hun. And beans. We'll be pulling beans out of the couch for days."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra rolled her eyes playfully and tackled Adora to the bed, kissing her quickly but firmly. How was it that Adora had gotten so weird with cleaning stuff? Must've been a Bright Moon thing. Then again, Catra could field-strip an auto rifle and have the components looking like factory issue in a matter of minutes. She could clean shit when she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to, but home was like her place to chill and make messes for the hell of it. Perhaps this would've made her a hypocrite in the eyes of any Royal Army conscripts under her wing, but it wasn't like they could come here and do something about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What was that for?" Adora asked, her voice containing a hint of some familiar heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. You're kinda hot when you're flustered is all. Doesn't come out often, tough gal," she kissed Adora's neck one final time, then shifted her weight away from her lovely girlfriend, "Come on. Promise I'll make us something kinda tidy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This coming from the woman who thinks chicken wings are 'tidy'," Adora joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You just don't eat them correctly! You won't even snap your flats!" Catra argued teasingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two had a bit of a laugh and headed downstairs. Catra put together some sort of mix of greens, diced mozzarella bits and sundried tomatoes with a dressing--something that could classify as a bootleg Caprese salad, in other words--and then headed downstairs to squish into the couch. She and Adora ate the salad from one large bowl with two separate forks, which they were known to do from time to time. Salads were finicky things, always slipping off of forks or out of their serving spoons and making a leafy mess hither and thither. It surprised Catra that she could get Adora's approval on this but not on nachos, though greens would probably make for more obvious detritus than beans. She wasn't just surprised, however, but thankful. The salad proved to be a very refreshing post-hangover meal, a crisp and oddly relaxing sort of thing that still managed to feel relatively filling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They headed for the car quite soon after, deciding to save the dishes for later when they were both home so they could split the workload, and from there went straight for the clinic. It was a depressing building, the architecture pre-dating the EPG by a few years; Catra guessed that it may have been a Horde field hospital of some sort, but the outer walls were too faded, battered and riddled with ivy to tell. She kissed Adora through the rolled down window of their beaten-up jeep and then headed for the clinic. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Remember Catra, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she ordered herself with the kind of leatherneck demeanor she approached her conscripts with, </span>
  <em>
    <span>VE Day and sex, VE Day and sex, VE Day and sex. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an unusual mantra when taken out of context. Anyone could tell you that. It mostly served the purpose of keeping her on track, ensuring the two issues she was most concerned about became the tentpoles of this particular appointment. Catra was sort of bad at therapy, or at least she thought she was by any established standard; she derailed the conversation too much--well, she thought it was too much anyway--and always pranced about in anecdotes or other odd, spontaneous directions that she didn't intend. Holistic, sure, but organized? Productive? Perhaps not, or not always at any rate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of the clinic was significantly cooler than the heat of the outdoors. Summers in this part of Etheria dragged on forever, and while that meant more time between Catra and her small, green, berry-producing child, it also meant too much time outside would cook her like bacon. The artificial breeze was refreshing and her hoodie kept it from being unbearable. Being able to give herself permission to wear low effort outfits was good, especially when they conferred some practical comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The receptionist was discrete as always, but the obvious prickles of excitement on his face were visible enough for Catra to take notice. At least there was one person here who didn't fawn over her. She just did her best to brush it off and took a seat in the waiting area, trying her best to do a bit of subtle PMR stuff (like </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>subtle, she didn't want anyone to think she was having a stroke or anything) to take a bit of the waiting anxiety off. The magazines that littered the centre table were all vapid nonsense Catra didn't know hide nor hair from, stuff that would've probably been better off as recycling; they didn't even have any food magazines, which she assumed would have been relatively tame for general audiences. Then she heard her name, and the PMR and magazine criticism came to a screeching halt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As was quite apparent in modern Etherian society, many ordinary EPG residents practically worshipped the ground Catra walked on; for Adora it was even worse, but at least the Princess of Power revelled in the attention. Julie was not one of those people. The therapist was pretty much the one civilian in the entirety of Station 9--and probably the whole planet--who consistently treated Catra like an average, normal person and not some sort of legendary badass. It helped that Julie wasn't from Etheria at all; in fact, Julie hailed from the colony world of Nemesis, a lost planet that only reconnected with Etheria after Prime's vanquishing and the EPG's founding. Catra didn't know why Julie chose Station 9 to practice out of, but she was thankful someone so utterly respectful of the Lord Protector's comfort zones existed in the mental healthcare system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Been a while, Jules," Catra strode nonchalantly towards the therapist and her back room, "How are you, pal?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't complain. Well, maybe about this heat, I guess," Julie shrugged, "You?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just kicked the mother of all hangovers and I'm ready to do some self-care," Catra said confidently, walking with Julie back to her office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hope you're drinking responsibly," Julie seemed a bit concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah. This was a special occasion. An old buddy of mine and I have a bit of a long running tradition of drinking contests, but I think I'm gonna pass next time," Catra paused as they got to the door to Julie's office. Julie opened the door and the two of them settled in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The office was in a bit of an odd transitional phase. Some of the previous occupant's junk had been left behind, leaving the place with an odd mixed aesthetic of sentimental quote posters and pretentious trinkets juxtaposed with Julie's more modest stash of literature and a cup with a solitary pride flag in it. It was nice to be a queer person with an equally queer therapist. Going in with that was good given what they had to discuss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, how is Catra today? Last time we checked in, you seemed to be doing pretty good what with your anniversary coming up and all," Julie started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I kind of wanted to touch on that a bit," Catra kept her eyes fixed downwards, her legs crossed and her body language beginning to tighten. Her tail flicked anxiously, making little slapping sounds against the leather of her chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I get that. Big life events can be a fuckin' mess, dude. My wife and I are approaching our first year here on Etheria and we were gonna have family over from Nemesis, but then some flights got cancelled. And then the bombing happened. And then the catering company inexplicably went bankrupt," Julie laughed, "Yeah, bit of a nightmare, that. Anyway, sorry, enough about me. What about VE Day is troubling you? And your anniversary, I should say." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, the thought of how big the buffet table's gonna be, for one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra's wisecrack elicited a dry laugh from the both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, but like...I have so many emotions around it, doc. There's gonna be all this noise, all these people. Dignitaries, politicians, veterans, executives, you name it. Just all these smarmy upper-crust jackasses from all over the reclaimed worlds who I don't want a damn thing to do with. And Adora, oh doc...don't even get me started. I love her so much, I just want our big day to be perfect, y'know? There's this feeling I get--every year, really--that we'll just get lost in all the noise. And I just can't let it happen," Catra took a huge breath, "Whoa, okay, that was a lot, I'll slow down." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No need, Catra. You're okay," Julie paused, looking at her notes, "I think I get what you mean. You want your anniversary to be about you and Adora, but the whole VE Day thing might get in the way. Sound about right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra just did awkward finger guns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotcha. Well, have you considered that maybe balance is possible?" Julie asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you getting at, doc?" Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I'm just saying, Catra. You and Adora can enjoy the VE Day partying </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>spend quality time together. Go take her to that buffet table you're so afraid of!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess. It's just...ugh. Everywhere I go, people wanna treat me like a hero. I'm no hero. A lot of good people died because of me during the last war. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Innocent </span>
  </em>
  <span>people. Adora takes this vet worship shit way better than me, but even when it's around her I get annoyed," Catra put her head in her hands, "How much longer are people going to glorify the past for?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think throughout human history it's been natural to make war look better than it is. Just look at some of those Earth-That-Was movies about World War Two," Julie smiled at Catra with some level of apathy for her past that she was thankful for, "And don't believe you have to drag that stuff around with you. People can change, speaking from experience. Just stick with Adora, avoid the fanboys, bask in the glory of that whole-ass buffet table." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Umm...okay. I'll try." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair did a few quick thought exercises, filling in something about the rationality of thoughts and if there could be more than one interpretation below the surface. It took a bit of time and clicking on Catra's communicator. Everything was digital nowadays it seemed, except for Adora's paperwork that is. She was thankful for the chance to do them, though. They made things feel a little less...ginormous. Something in particular she ended up scribbling down was that Adora wasn't one to get lost in the noise. She didn't go quietly, or at least she didn't anymore; it came with the whole 'practicing assertiveness' thing. Thinking about Adora and assertiveness seemed to be a good segue into Catra's next focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright doc, while we're here there's something else I gotta talk about," Catra felt her pulse quicken in nervousness, "Dysphoria stuff. Kinda heavy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you need to, go ahead. This is your space, dude," Julie smiled earnestly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn't know if it was worth getting into. It might've been a bit too much for Julie to really understand or even stomach. Still, she knew it was either speak up and maybe shed more light on the situation or hold her tongue and keep stewing over it. The choice was obvious from a healing perspective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora and I experimented with...some physical intimacy </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff </span>
  </em>
  <span>involving me--wow, okay, there's no real other way to say this--</span>
  <em>
    <span>penetrating </span>
  </em>
  <span>her with my bits," she cringed, "Sorry. I did say it was kind of heavy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing these walls have heard," Julie said, trying to sound reassuring, "How'd that go?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, it was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking awesome, </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually," Catra caught herself remembering all the sensations and the music and the look on Adora's face under her...and then her episode afterwards, "Brought up some old shit, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Old shit?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shadow Weaver-related old shit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, right. You still having your nightmares?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yup." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm. So how does this all fit together?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra exhaled with a certain amount of restrained frustration. She was determined to take control of herself physically, but these memories wouldn't stop hurting. They made everything muddled, philosophical, irritating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She always knew how I felt for Adora. I can't say that enough. She also thought I was a freak, though. Was enough of an excuse to bubble-wrap the fuck out of Adora and then turn around and tell me what a sick little </span>
  <em>
    <span>abomination </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was whenever I so much as looked her way. She'd say things like how I was a mentally ill fetishist, using my identity to force a girl who liked other girls into sleeping with me. I'm telling you, doc, its beyond fucked up that she helped me through my identity from such an early age while teaching me it was wrong the whole time. The science was what she liked, not the person," Catra clenched her fists, "it's all bullshit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guessing you feel like what you and Adora did validates her accusations." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, exactly. Like, sure, we've been fucking each other for three years, but not like this. And it's like, isn't this thing what </span>
  <em>
    <span>men</span>
  </em>
  <span> do? How can I enjoy something like that?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, look at it this way," Julie pointed to the stack of books on her desk, "People like you have been around for centuries. On Earth-That-Was, they took hormones or underwent surgery or did speech therapy. Now we have magic, and it's all pretty much obsolete. The Horde burnt every goddamn book about that stuff. Wiped it off the map. With every human colony disconnected from Etheria, they had their work cut out for them. Your boss was a zealot parroting a broken, revisionist narrative. I get that moving on is gonna take time, and there's no need to rush! I'll be here for you, and I know Adora and all your friends will too! At the risk of sounding like I'm literally made of cheese, though, there's nothing wrong with you or your relationship, and those people that made you feel like you were somehow sick or defective were not reliable sources." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra smiled and nodded, still having trouble with eye contact. All the movements were subtle, but they were there. Believing this narrative over the ramblings of a ghost was becoming a bit easier. It helped to get validation from a professional.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I should add that if you're not a man then no, it's not something men do exclusively. You're not a man, so...yeah, you get the idea. Long as it's consensual and you're both having fun, who cares about anything else?" Julie continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know, but...the pain, the nightmares. They muddy the waters sometimes. When I'm with Adora, I feel almost indestructible and then I'm alone in my head for all of two minutes and everything gets fucky," Catra tried explaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, that's why I'm here. Maybe the next time this comes up you can run through the thought exercise we did today again. Really, though, I want you to try to keep looking inward and forward with your relationship and yourself. The Horde are dead and buried. The world now is different from the world of three years ago, and part of that is that you're free to be yourself now. The healing is gonna take a bit, but be gentle with yourself and work with it. You still journaling?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, so maybe the next time you sit down to journal try and think about yourself while separated from the baggage." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like trying to focus on the things about my body that I like?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not even the things you like. Just observing how things are and being like 'yeah, this is Catra'. Doesn't have to be mushy or anything. You're still new at this," Julie shifted in her seat, Catra noticing for the first time that her buzz cut almost made her look like a less gigantic Scorpia, "I really encourage you to be gentle with yourself. Relationships and trauma can be a little like oil and water some days, but just take it easy and go one day at a time. Trust Adora. Trust yourself. I know you can move on from the past, and I'm sure she'll be happy to help." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sat with that for a bit. It felt pretty nice, getting things off her chest. Being gentle to herself sounded nice too, and this just reinforced her will to do so. Tonight when she got home, she was going to cook a bigass meal and congratulate herself, then journal a bit and really just take account of things. The thing that made all of this feel a little less daunting was how Julie just kept emphasizing that this was potentially going to be a slow process. When people talked of healing, there always seemed to be some undercurrent of it being something more polarized. Either you were or you weren't. Here was a professional, an expert and master of that domain, saying 'well actually no, this is different for everyone and might be slow or weird or something'. That was comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Jules. I appreciate you helping me make some more sense of this stuff. I can't say I'm feeling all that sore about the whole situation for the moment, but I like knowing its normal to feel...uh, fucky from time to time. I'll follow through with your suggestions." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't work yourself too hard. Remember, buffet table." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra snorted. They were coming up on the end of their hour, and this felt like it had been a productive session all things considered. She felt like she'd gained some new things for the proverbial toolkit, and between that, Adora's compassion and her own stubbornness it shouldn't have been too hard to kick some baggage to the curb. Her worries for VE Day felt almost nonexistent now as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll try and have fun. I know we will," Catra smiled, feeling hopeful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Julie looked at the wall clock, "Looks like that's all we have time for today. Hope you got something out of this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure did! Think I'll keep this form, maybe run through it a couple more times whenever I have an intrusive thought," Catra pointed to her communicator, alluding to the thought exercise. The device vibrated at that exact moment, receiving one new message from Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's why it's there. Hey, did they finish scrubbing the graffiti off the wall by the time you got here?" Julie asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't see any tagging, so I guess so," Catra explained with a shrug, the pair heading back out towards the waiting area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, there was a pretty fantastic display of street art along the outside of the clinic when I got here this morning. Huge, colorful letters. Something about a false princess, I think." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when Catra remembered that phrase. It followed her everywhere these days, popping up on every single wall. Maybe this was just some pre-VE Day political paranoia, but Catra suddenly found herself questioning whether it was just a harmless band name or maybe some sort of rallying cry. Damn near everyone who ran the EPG had some form of princess honorary in addition to their political or military function, so it was a bit worrying. That said, if Adora's vinyl collection was anything to go off of--and it was pretty expansive--metal bands would call themselves anything these days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's," Catra started slowly and nervously, "pretty weird, Jules." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's weird, even as a bit of a punk I don't think I've heard that phrase before," Julie laughed, "I guess I'm getting old and out of touch." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you do, fellow kids?" Catra joked, buried in nervous laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two said their goodbyes and Catra found herself alone in the waiting room of boring magazines again. Checking her communicator, she opened Adora's message. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here when you're ready. Parked out front. </span>
  </em>
  <span>&lt;3 </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra questioned if the heart emote was necessary in this context, but it was a cute touch nonetheless. Stepping back out onto the asphalt and heading for the car, Catra ran those words over and over again in her head. FALSE PRINCESS. Coming around again and again like a bad habit. It almost made her wonder if she'd have to devote some PMR and thought exercise time to that phrase and that phrase alone. Well, come hell or high water, if anyone tried anything on VE Day they'd be going up against some of the Royal Army's finest, the Lord Protector herself...and She-motherfucking-Ra, son. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The classics continue to be classics," Adora mumbled between mouthfuls of mac and cheese. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra recalled the first time she'd tried mac and cheese, back during the terraforming. Glimmer was the one who made it, as she recalled. It was okay, but dreadfully dry; no exaggeration, it texturally resembled greasy cardboard with vague cheese flavor to it. Later on, when this whole bizarre foodie affliction of her's started, she put the pieces together and that's when it hit her. Glimmer hadn't actually prepared a roux for some inconceivable reason. Thus, Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>underestimated the importance of a good roux. This must be precisely understood or nothing good can come of this story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch for the forgotten art of tiny pasta tubes with cheese and meat. Threw some of my parm-garlic-oregano mix in there, gives it extra umami flavor," Catra mused, knowing she sounded pretentious and liking it better that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god, what even is </span>
  <em>
    <span>umami</span>
  </em>
  <span> flavor?" Adora asked with exaggerated exhaustion at Catra's snobbery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A magician never reveals her secrets," Catra chided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you say I'm the idiot." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because you don't know what umami flavor is," Catra teased. It was really just a highfalutin term for savoury flavor, but it worked better for annoying the hell out of people than </span>
  <em>
    <span>savoury </span>
  </em>
  <span>did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Adora rolled her eyes, "How was therapy?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was pretty good, I guess. We talked about VE Day and dysphoria stuff," Catra explained, kind of wondering how she'd elaborate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dysphoria stuff? Like...about what happened a few days ago?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, kinda, but I think that was really just part of it. It's kind of a big, ongoing conversation, but I'm working it out." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was some silence for a bit, save for the two of them chewing. Catra was pretty impressed with how toothsome she'd gotten the pasta. The roux was on point, the ground beef added some crunch and chewiness, and the aforementioned umami notes were peppered in there. She knew this conversation was officially about more than just plates of pasta, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, if you're uncomfortable with something, you can always tell me," Adora broke the silence, as sincere and affectionate as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, Adora, I know. You don't have to keep asking me that about what happened, though, because like…" Catra spaced out for a minute, slid back in her chair, and let a wide-eyed grin spread across her face as she daydreamed about that very specific night and all its impassioned lust for a minute, "...Goddamn." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Adora laughed dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I'm not feeling it anymore I'll let you know, but I'd really like to just kinda...do things that feel good without shame, right? And I think I can do it. I'm working on it. I'm feeling like I can take it on," Catra explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your confidence is cute, I'll give you that," Adora teased, "Seriously though, it's awesome that you're giving yourself that permission. Taking charge, y'know? Like we've always been so focused on my problems with assertiveness it's like I never considered that maybe you'd got some stuff going on too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's amazing what years of living with a transphobic mage-warlord who berates you over anything fun will do to you," Catra winked, hoping the self-deprecation would be charming, "For real, I'm working on it. I will find all those dysphoric, self-doubting bullshit thoughts and punch their faces in the balls." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're gonna punch their </span>
  <em>
    <span>faces</span>
  </em>
  <span>...in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>balls?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes ma'am." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, Lord Protector, how about you leave the punching to me and stick to whips and things that go 'pew-pew'?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can borrow that whip </span>
  <em>
    <span>anytime…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra dripped with innuendo for a literal hot second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whoa. Okay. That was...sudden," Adora gasped slightly, flustered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two exchanged a brief moment of quiet laughs and kissed for a prolonged moment. The whole mac and cheese-y lips thing wasn't the sexiest thing in the world, but Catra and Adora had been together long enough for it not to be a bother. These things happened in long-term arrangements. Catra just thought the whole thing was adorable, kissing Adora while she was still midway through laughing and the corners of her grin still able to be felt. It kind of made Catra glad she managed to sucker Adora into letting them eat on the couch a second time--even if Adora </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted </span>
  </em>
  <span>that mac and cheese would make a huge mess and that Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>clean everything up spic and span--because it just made this all so much more </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She was in the house she shared with her girlfriend, sitting on their couch, eating mac and cheese and making out. How had things just gotten so sweet? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps her calculations with Julie had been correct. Adora was a tough one to keep quiet. She was more vibrant than the atomic fire at Tannhauser Gate, and Catra saw that every time she closed her eyes. VE Day wouldn't just be a day for parades and pomp, it'd be their day to shine as bright as three years deserved. Something really fucking glorious, truly a day for the history books. It'd be a perfect opportunity to start caring a little less and calling her own shots about her identity, too. Just an all around perfect start. For now, though, she was enjoying the security of Adora's lips, her embrace, her touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>want more mac and cheese, though. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Victory on Etheria Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tonight is the night of the Victory on Etheria Day ball, the greatest celebration in the EPG. A day for honoring the fallen, being thankful for progress, and rousing speeches from a Queen who admittedly doesn't much care for speeches. It's also Catra and Adora's three year anniversary of course, and Adora has a very ambitious surprise planned for her beloved Lord Protector and paramour...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 5: Victory on Etheria Day </b>
</p><p>
  <span>**CONTENT WARNING: contains lemony themes as well as subject matter that may trigger dysphoria for other transfemme readers. Reader discretion and judgement requested. 18+.**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who the fuck had the bright idea to get honeydew?" Catra demanded to know, voice so loud it echoed across the halls of the venue. It was an old pre-war church, so the acoustics were pretty refined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me, Glimmer handled the catering,” Bow, setting up some chairs across the room, called in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other than the chartreuse, flavourless eyesore Catra had strewn before her like pearls before swine, the buffet tables--if that was the right word for them, given how fancy they were--were looking pretty scrumptious. Among the vibrant platters were multiple cakes, charcuterie selections, soups, tiny sandwiches (the esteemed CEO of Dryl Industries would love those), a Salinean lobster the size of a large dog, and just about every other posh snack money could buy. It was bougie as all hell, but Catra's inner food snob was getting eager to tear into it all. Shame that'd be a while. She'd specifically had a smaller breakfast to make more room for this stuff, and that decision was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>not paying off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The venue was like the apotheosis of all venues. It had a banquet hall, guest rooms for those that were to be staying the night, decorum that recalled wartime Etheria, all tied together in the beautiful purples and golds of the EPG. Bright Moon would've been the logical setting for the VE Day festivities but Glimmer insisted on holding them in the vicinity of Station 9. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This day is about you and Adora as much as it is about the last war, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Glimmer had told them while planning in a video meeting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we're not mourning, we're celebrating! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right, okay Sparkles, I'm sure some legless old foot slogger cares a lot about two queer aristocrats, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought to herself as she recalled the Queen's words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was looking about as sharp and badass in her uniform as she felt. It was almost enough to justify all the random civilians always kissing her ass in public, thanking her for her service in a while ignoring she spent most of the war with a genocidal regime, but it still missed the mark for her to tolerate that behaviour. Come to think of it, there likely was no threshold for tolerating that. Nevertheless, it was one hell of an outfit and she felt quite regal, greatcoat and all. The sabre was a nice touch too, though it was purely ceremonial and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn't have to use it. That was certainly what she was hoping for, anyway. Regardless, the whole military sword butch look was certainly working for her as a gestalt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if it isn't my good pal Lord Protector Catra Applesauce Meowmeow!" A familiar, aggressively jovial voice caught Catra by surprise suddenly, removing her from her thoughts of outfit appreciation and eliciting a cringe at her full name, "What is this? A crossover episode?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia was wearing a dress the color of deep red wine. She tended not to wear her own Royal Army uniform often, having eased into her role as more of political leader over at Station 17. Seemed she was taking some steps to put the blood of the past behind her, even incremental ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, bro. How's it going?" Catra asked casually before switching to a much less casual tone, "And do me a favor and never say my full name in a public space </span>
  <em>
    <span>again.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why? What's wrong with acknowledging my bro Catra Applesauce Meowmeow?" Scorpia teased with total absent subtlety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra Applesauce Meowmeow, Lord Protector, Etherian Provisional Government!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Applesauce…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop!" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Meowme--" </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Scorpia, you finish that name and I swear on my mother's grave I will take this sword and shove it </span>
  <em>
    <span>so far up your ass</span>
  </em>
  <span>--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia's eyes suddenly shifted away from Catra despite her uproariousness, looking at something off to the side. Catra followed her gaze, taken aback, only to find two Royal Army troops frozen in place. Obviously Catra couldn't glimpse their faces under their plumed helmets and iridescent, face-encompassing visors, but she knew their mouths were agape under there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The fuck are you jarheads looking at? Get back to work, and if any of you tell a soul about what you just heard I'll have your sorry asses court-martialed!" Catra ordered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two soldiers slapped their heels together, stood upright, and saluted for a moment. Both spat out a shaky affirmative of 'Yes, Lord Protector!' and then shuffled away in a hurry. Catra snorted to herself as she watched the purple, white and gold-uniformed foot sloggers flee. If only she could scare the hell out of her little civilian fan club like that. It was all in jest, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you even do that? Court-martial them, that is," Scorpia asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. I was just joking. They still bought it, though," Catra had to stifle a laugh. Abuse of authority shouldn't have been this amusing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They sure did," Scorpia snickered, clearly feeling a bit guilty that she found this funny, "So, umm, otherwise, how're you feeling about today?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm looking at this spread and getting ready to give it a scathing review,” Catra smirked, pointing at the buffet table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this about that umami thing you keep mentioning?” Scorpia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, please don’t make her start with the umami thing again…” Bow interjected from across the room. He still seemed to really have his hands full with all those chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, what’s the matter Robin Hood? I thought you called yourself a foodie,” Catra taunted, face scrunched and tongue extended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, but you’re different! You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean! </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s always ‘mouthfeel’ this and ‘acidity’ that! Can’t a guy just enjoy a slice of cheesecake in peace?” Bow lamented while he struggled with what looked to be the final stack of chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you may not. Proper cheesecakes are essentially a custard, and usually you’re gonna want to splash some sour cream and heavy cream in with the other wet ingredients for a richer cake and…” Catra noticed Bow had his back turned and was fully immersed in setting up chairs, “...And yeah, I was done talking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Haven’t heard you this upset since the war, bro. Got something on your mind?” Scorpia asked, putting a claw on Catra’s shoulder. Catra usually felt pretty closed off about letting friends into her personal space, but she made an exception with her undercut-topped, spiky teddy bear of a friend. Part of it was making up for the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, kinda. I’m starving, this setup is taking forever, and I have no idea where Adora is--” Catra started to rant, only for a surprise to cut her off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for me, honey?” Adora’s voice, unmistakable yet still unidentified in source, said from...somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra spun around, only to find a site that left her even more dizzy than before. Adora was there, suddenly beside her as if Catra’s confusion had summoned her like a ritual, and she looked even more goddess-like than usual. She was clad in that same white-gold dress she'd worn to Scorpia's Station 17 ball a year before, radiating the strength and beauty of Athena or Ishtar or some other celestial being. Her hair, not tied back for once but rather flowing over her shoulders, was complemented with a simple, small gold crown that blended into her hair almost seamlessly. The ruby in the crown's centre shone and burnt almost as bright as Catra's absolute, all-consuming desire for her at this precise moment. The noise, the bustle of the venue, it all just choked off for one perfect moment as Adora became the centre of the universe. It just felt so much better when topped off with just how confident Adora looked, how proud she seemed of herself and her look, seeming so utterly sure of herself and her own power. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bro, your breathing is sounding kinda weird. Can I get you anything? Water? Ice cream? Throat lozenge? Heimlich maneuver? Anything?" Scorpia asked suddenly, "By the way Adora, might I say you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>slaying </span>
  </em>
  <span>tonight? Princess of Power indeed!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment as she realized how loudly she was purring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi Scorps! Your dress is definitely very pretty too. Perfuma must be falling in love all over again," Adora said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She never stopped, my dude! She and Blossom are probably still unpacking, so I'm gonna let you lovebirds go. Oh, and Catra? Shots later? I hear they have a rum here that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>banned</span>
  </em>
  <span> on three different colonies! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Banned</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Scorpia inquired as she started to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One, I think I'm still recovering from last time. Two, I'm gonna try to avoid the excessive boozing from now on if that's cool," Catra shot back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No worries! Mad respect, bro! I should probably steer clear for a bit myself. That was like...two days ago, wasn't it? Anyway, laters," Scorpia headed off to go help her wife and baby make themselves at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Etheria's favourite power couple were alone in the centre of the banquet hall, reunited at last. Though they weren't </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically </span>
  </em>
  <span>alone, of course. Bow was still struggling to set up chairs somewhere, and Royal Army grunts came and went like moths as far as the eye could see. No doubt Queen Glimmer was somewhere in their midst as well, probably preparing a speech and getting incredibly frustrated every time she got a line wrong. That moment proved Catra's hypothesis from the day before to be true. Adora just couldn't blend into the noise. It wasn't scientifically possible. So they stood amidst the ballroom, a few paces apart like dueling gunslingers, smiling and not saying a word for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Catra teased, her voice wry, "The power armor and sword just wasn't cutting it today?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You really thought I'd turn into She-Ra for this?" Adora asked facetiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bread and circuses, babe. Bread and circuses. I just would've thought Sparkles would've had you keeping the crowds going." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, I think you just miss seeing me like that," Adora was now the one doing the teasing. She seemed to be coming closer, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can neither confirm nor deny this statement," Catra said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora said nothing for a moment, just glared at Catra knowingly with that cocky look on her face. That same look from three years ago, when Catra pushed her out of the way of what would turn out to be an illusory wall of fire. Catra figured it was simply a sign that she should admit defeat and, well, that would've been completely reasonable. If classic Adora was enough to turn Catra's mind into mindless white noise and her libido into a powder keg, She-Ra doubled, tripled or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>quadrupled </span>
  </em>
  <span>that effect. Ever since Catra first laid eyes on her, she'd been completely obliterated with infatuation; this was all the more awkward back when both were on opposing sides of No Man's Land, of course. This was Victory on Etheria Day, though, and the war was only a distant memory now. In turn, that just made what happened next even sweeter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora tackled Catra and took her in her arms like she was lighter than a feather. Catra barely had time to process what was going on, merely gasping and feeling herself get tossed around. Her momentum barely faltering, Adora exclaimed something familiar for all the other partygoers to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>For the honor of Grayskull!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was consumed in otherworldly radiance for a blinding moment. Catra felt gooseflesh form on her arms at the very utterance of those words. When the blinding light cleared, Adora was close to a foot taller and decked out in gold-and-ivory carapace decorated with flowing, billowing vestments. The crown utop her head was now a winged, open-faced helm not unlike the ancient crusaders of Earth-That-Was. If Catra was playing the goddess angle up before, it was practically the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>angle now as far as she was concerned. She felt herself start purring again and making odd little flustered fumfers, her mind consumed with the almost cosmically mindblowing beauty that was Adora's transformed state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"H-hey, Adora…" Catra stuttered, mouth gaping and eyes unblinking and everything freezing in time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now what was it you were saying about bread and circuses, kitten?" Adora asked, her voice so rife with raw power it took control of the whole room without so much as a minimal strain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every partygoer from the lowliest Royal Army infantryman to the stuffiest colonial dignitary stopped and stared. Even after all this time spent with the First Ones' last super soldier, there didn't seem to be a single soul in the EPG who wasn't awestruck by her presence. Some bowed their heads or got on their knees while others clapped or cheered; Catra even overheard one soldier grumble 'Show off…' to themselves. They all practically worshipped her, and of all the people in this mess of a galaxy it was Catra whom Adora chose to be her lover. She only had eyes for Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, thank you. At ease. You may resume your duties, citizens," Adora said, her voice gentle but still commanding. She proceeded to morph back to normal, shedding the armor and returning to her dress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora gently put Catra back on her feet, letting her collect her bearings. She still felt a little surprised, but she was content to be so. The two said nothing, simply exchanging knowing glances and then fluidly moving towards a deep, shamelessly public kiss. Catra's hypothesis was right on the money and she was teeming with excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Holy shit, you two," yet another partygoer chimed in, voice indignant but still somehow warm and mostly full of humor, "Get a room." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're in a room," Catra's lips left Adora's for barely a few seconds, not even acknowledging the outsider's jeers with a glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You got me there. Cheeky bitch…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as she expected, when Catra finally broke out of her moment with Adora she found the Queen herself looking back at the two of them and jokingly shaking her head. While not quite as eldritch in the power she leant to the room as Adora, Glimmer was no slouch in her own dress uniform. The greatcoat was a bit more flowy than Catra's, swapped the white for purple, featured gold epaulettes and silver-grey flak panels on the shoulders, arms and breast. The panels were each emblazoned with a minimalist depiction of the EPG's coat of arms, a charging pegasus. That insignia was chosen in the second year of the EPG's reign, in honor of a certain talking steed and Prime Minister who was responsible for a great deal of social programs including one that gave mandatory hay to all horses. He certainly had his niche voter bases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dressed for combat, Sparkles?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In solidarity with the other vets, yes," Glimmer explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So how is it that somehow she's armoured and you're not?" Catra turned to Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I just--" Adora started, only to get interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After all she's done for this nation, I think Adora's earned a rest. Besides, she doesn't need to dress up for people to recognize her, do you hun?" Glimmer asked Adora. The two embraced for a moment, having not seen each other in person under informal circumstances in what felt like an age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's so great to see you again, Glimmer. How are things? Guessing the speech stuff is as nerve-wracking as ever?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, Sparkles. How's politics going?" Catra sneered playfully. Adora gave the Lord Protector a gentle prod with her elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ignore her. That's her idea of being friendly," Adora insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's an acquired taste," Glimmer smiled and shrugged, looking at Catra in understanding, "But anyway, it's exactly what you'd expect, meaning a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking nightmare</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aww, come on, I'm sure your speech isn't that bad!" Adora tried to reassure her friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you kidding? I'm on in five and I'm still jumbling lines! 'We fought them on the beaches, we fought them on the…' 'The…' Dammit!" Glimmer cursed, face pinched in embarrassment, "Not to mention I was on stage for a sound check and the sound guy was a total douchenozzle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Douchenozzle! That's a new one! Seems I'm always picking up all kinds of fun swears from you, Your Highness," Catra joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Free of charge, Royal Protector," Glimmer winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually, it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Protector,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra corrected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You gave me the title, dude!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, and I also made Sea Hawk a General in the Royal Marines, so I can't be expected to remember every title I've given out when I basically hand them out like candy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then why'd you remember that guy?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer just snorted and averted her eyes, focusing back on Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, they need me backstage, but it was nice seeing you guys again. We can catch up after the show, shoot the shit about the good old days and whatever. Also, there's this giant lobster thing over </span>
  <em>
    <span>there…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Glimmer pointed to the borderline Lovecraftian crustacean from the deepest waters of Salineas, "...that I am itching to tuck into. So, uh, you wanna maybe grab some dinner too when all's said and done?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not big on seafood, but I'm sure Catra would love to. Think I'll just steal a couple of those weird-looking sandwiches," Adora said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go for whatever you like! Hell, I'd be stupid not to let She-Ra have first pick! Oh, and did I mention I handled the catering?" Glimmer explained with pride as she moved further towards the stage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, when you're done we're gonna have a fuckin' word about the honeydew," Catra said, almost as if it were a threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aww, you know I only got that to spite you!" Glimmer called over her shoulder, mockingly blowing a kiss and winking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never change, you magnificent bastard," Catra snickered to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora and Catra were alone--close to alone--amidst the bustle of the still-preparing banquet hall yet again. This was all shaping up to be a very interesting evening, and when the two looked at each other they felt with great certainty that there was no one else they'd rather be with through it. Three years together officially, the two of them brought together against all the odds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, uh, if it's cool for me to ask," Catra started, hands in her pockets, "Why'd you transform back there, anyway?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To tease you. Duh," Adora pulled one of Catra's hands out and grabbed onto it tight, "You're fun to mess with when you get all...spiky like that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I ain't complaining. Maybe I need a little bread and circuses too," Catra pecked Adora on her cheek, face softer than a marshmallow, "I'm gonna go use the facilities before the show starts. Uh, happy anniversary by the way. God, how have I not said that yet?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Busy day. I don't blame you. It's really nice hearing those words, though," Adora smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>three years</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Tonight we're gonna set the whole town on fire! Love you!" Catra exclaimed as she headed for the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Love you too!" Adora called after her paramour, waving gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, with Catra temporarily out of her hair, she could get to work. Admittedly, having Adora's entire surprise anniversary plan tied into the utterly random chance that Catra might leave the room--and by extension Adora's side--at some point. Luckily, Catra had a coffee addiction and a tiny bladder so it was more or less guaranteed to happen eventually. Perhaps it wasn't so random after all, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, Bow," Adora asked as she approached the engineer, just now finishing up with his chair sorting duties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora! How are you? You're looking sharp, I see," Bow put his hand out to shake, which Adora took hold of, "I was just out here, working on this endless seating arrangement. Lot harder than it looks, believe it or not. Congrats to you and Catra on three years, by the way! I'm a little exhausted so I might not sound like it, but I'm actually really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>happy for you guys! But, umm, anyway, what's up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well first of all, thank you. Second of all, you're in charge of music tonight, right?" Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, uh, yeah! For the dance! I've been working pretty hard on one awesome playlist, you're gonna love it! Nothing but the hits of Earth-That-Was!" Bow explained, clearly excited. The playlist in question was presumably the one Catra and Adora had been previewing. Adora hoped it was the one, since if it was it would make the plan a lot easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds great! Not exactly a mosh pit, but meh, should be fun," Adora smiled to herself as she thought of her plan coming together, anticipating the look on Catra's face, "So while we're on the subject, can I put in a request? Seeing as how it's me and Catra's anniversary and all." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm all ears," Bow enthused, clearly willing to accommodate his favourite couple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora's smile didn't falter. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is gonna be sweet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought to herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lights dimmed. People filled the seats that Bow had worked so hard to prepare. A brassy fanfare crackled over the sound system (was live music not in the budget, or would it simply have been too hard to organize?). Camera-bearing drones, courtesy of Dryl Industries, captured every angle of the event for the telescreens of the Etherian people. Without further ado, Queen Glimmer took centre stage in front of an EPG-emblazoned podium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My fellow Etherians. Three years ago, a terrible blight on our history finally came to a close. Through the efforts of a desperate, ragtag band of soldiers led by none other than the great She-Ra, the fascist empire known only as the Horde was utterly vanquished. This victory was hard fought, the result of years of brutal combat all across our beloved home. We fought them on the beaches, we fought them on the landing grounds, we fought them in the fields and the streets, we fought them in the hills, and we never surrendered. In the end, the persistence of you, the Etherian people, brought us to liberation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our journey towards rebuilding has not been an easy one. In the wake of the war, my most trusted friends and I set forth on a planet-wide expedition to reconnect and rebuild our shattered world. Through magic and new technology, we've managed to raise two dozen beautiful safe zones or 'Stations' all over the globe. Not only that, but our eyes have been turned towards the stars as we've reclaimed a great deal of mankind's lost colonies. We learned of Earth-That-Was, and through their history and culture launched a golden age of art and science. From the internet--or 'Etherinet' as we call our version--to The Beatles, all of the human story is at our fingertips for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This does not mean there isn't any more work to be done. We've barely scratched the surface of the stars, and our influence is hazy at the best of times. Even now, my father attends a diplomatic mission to the mining world of Ahriman. Rebuilding our connection to the cosmos is one thing, rebuilding our planet is another, however. Despite three years of aid, rebuilding and reconstructing assisted by our good friends at Dryl Industries, the frontiers outside the Stations are still hounded by highwaymen and traitors. Incremental progress is still progress however, and we should nonetheless take pride in what we've achieved over such a short span.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let us then conclude not with a message of sorrow or flagellation, but rather one of hope. While on this day we remember those that gave their lives for us, this day also marks the anniversary of our esteemed Princess Adora and Lord Protector Catra. Rising from humble beginnings as two soldiers in opposing trenches, these two formed an unbreakable bond of true love that still holds strong among our new world. So let us remember Adora and Catra, and remember that we, too, can find life, love and liberty in this bright future. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Omnia vincit amor, </span>
  </em>
  <span>my friends." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Glimmer had seemed on her last nerve with regards to her speech, she felt strongly as if she totally nailed it as the last words left her lips. She saw Catra, Adora and many of her other friends' faces among the crowd gathered in front of the stage, and in a funny way it gave her the strength to carry the speech through to its very last syllable with confidence. Judging by the reaction, the crowd agreed. The applause was deafening, the few hundred party guests all cheering and hooting with deafening raucousness. It almost made the stress of memorizing that routine worth it. Glimmer had still got her mind on something else regardless, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, enough talk. Let's eat," she joked, going off script, directly into the microphone as she headed off stage. The cheers turned to varying levels of laughter at Glimmer's wisecrack. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy VE Day everybody, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The actual VE Day party had finally started now that the pomp was out of the way. Music was blaring, people were mingling and dancing--including members of the Royal Army, who looked a bit silly dancing around in their full kit--and Catra finally had access to the food table. Surprisingly, most of what she'd sampled so far was actually quite well-rounded and didn't need all that much in the way of roasting. Except for the honeydew of course, because fuck honeydew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well Sparkles," she remarked to Glimmer over both music and mouthfuls of giant lobster-thing, "I must say it was a smart idea bringing in this creature here." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You like it, huh?" Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do. It's very full-bodied, kinda earthy. I think the big thing that's doing it for me is the mouthfeel, though. Like it doesn't do that thing that other shellfish like shrimp do, that feeling of eating vaguely fishy-flavoured tire pieces," Catra explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're really into this stuff, aren't you? Maybe you should write a food review column as a side hustle." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno. I probably wouldn't be a good writer." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could take a class on it! I bet you'd be awesome with all those ideas and fancy words of yours!" Glimmer enthused, "I'll pull some strings, get you a spot in a paper or magazine or something!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who's gonna man the garrisons near Station 9, then?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll get Bow or Sea Hawk to come in, cover some of your jobs. I'm sure they won't mind." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mmm," Catra vocalized gingerly, nibbling more lobster, "I'll think about it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's all I ask. We'll get the ball rolling whenever you're ready," Glimmer smiled, "Where's Adora? I don't usually see you stray far from her." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra remained mum, merely chewing on another bite of the sinewy off-pinkish meat, and pointed a finger in the direction of the banquet hall's designated dance floor of sorts. There, commanding the situation amidst the other dancers just as she commanded any room, was Adora in the centre of it all. More than a few partygoers glanced at her admiringly, but Catra knew full well there was only one woman in this room that the Princess had eyes for. Only one who she chose, loved, let worship her. The answer was so obvious it needn't be said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Why don't you join her?" Glimmer asked, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't dance. Not in public, at least," Catra reasoned, "Plus, I'm eating. If I do anything crazy I'll probably cramp." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Lord Protector, ghost of Tannhauser, the Horde's reckoning, is out here complaining about a cramp?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, maybe if people overheard me they'd start treating me less like a hero and more like a normal person." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because of a cramp?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, why not, right?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around then, Catra noticed Adora do something a bit odd out of the corner of her eye. Her lover ceased dancing--every movement having been somehow more elegant than the last--and sauntered off. Thanks to Catra's refined eyesight, she could just make out that same stupid cocky grin on Adora's face she got when she teased Catra. Perhaps it was just the Lord Protector overthinking things, but could it be possible this pertained to her? She watched Adora walk on stage with shameless abandon, whisper something to Bow, and then return to the dance. Bow hit something on his computer, then pulled the nearby microphone to his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have a special message from Adora to her Lord Protector! May I also add a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge </span>
  </em>
  <span>congratulations on three years together! Anywho, here goes: 'Happy anniversary, kitten. This next song's for you'," Bow announced over the sound system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then something very unexpected--but also sort of expected in proper overtly cheesy romantic idiot Adora fashion--occurred. The partygoers all stopped dancing, some of them gently bowing their heads, and moved towards the sidelines of the room. One crowd went off towards the food table, while the other simply hugged the parallel wall. All, of course, except for one. Adora stood amidst the cleared dance floor, that same stupid smile on her face in some kind of anticipation, now looking directly into Catra's eyes from across the room. The whole display seemed like something out of a dream in its surrealism, and all it served to do was make Catra furrow her brow in confusion. Then a familiar, slow-burn tune began to ring out and everything made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never meant to cause you any sorrow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I never meant to cause you any pain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra had only been introduced to Prince's definitive ballad a matter of weeks ago and already it managed to conjure a fairly visceral reaction from Catra every time she heard it. Tonight was no different, with images of drunk-but-emotional partying and complex-yet-passionate lovemaking flashing through her head. Adora stood in the centre of the room, hand outstretched, mouthing to Catra 'you coming'. Whether this was a callback to something Catra had said before Scorpia's little shindig at Station 17 or not she couldn't say, and she honestly didn't feel it mattered. Her goddess beckoned her forth, and she wasn't one to ignore a summons like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, seems your phobia of dancing in public ends today," Glimmer joked, smiling at Catra earnestly, "I'll hold your plate. Go show that girl a good time, Horde scum." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's the plan, Sparkles," Catra shot back with a wink and finger guns. The exchange felt familiar somehow, but Catra was too drunk on Adora to tell why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra almost sprinted over to join her lover on the now-vacant dance floor, practically throwing herself into Adora's arms. They had the floor to themselves, and the fact that Adora could somehow organize something like this by her authority alone just reinforced her power in Catra's eyes. The two awkwardly box-stepped around the floor of that reconstructed church with the same carefree abandon they'd had in their bedroom all those nights ago. Catra certainly felt equally as close to Adora in this venue, even with all these eyes upon the two, if not more so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, I'm gonna be frank...how'd you pull this one off? Or do I wanna know?" Catra asked, her voice almost melding with her gentle purrs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you know how I've been gone all day?" Adora started, her voice carrying that heaviness again, "I may have sort of given everyone a </span>
  <em>
    <span>teensy</span>
  </em>
  <span> lecture about this surprise dance for the two of us. They all understood, of course. After that, it was just a matter of telling Bow I wanted this song played at a specific time and the rest was history." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're such an idiot, babe. You know this is the same playlist Bow sent to me, right? 'Purple Rain' would've played eventually anyway if you waited long enough," Catra joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah…" Adora blushed, looking a little humiliated, "...Well, we're here now. Do you still like it? This dance, I mean." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love it," Catra whispered, voice silken, as she leaned in to kiss Adora. They held the sweet moment for more than a few heartbeats, Catra only getting more intoxicated on how good it felt to do this without fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, is this our song now?" Catra asked, face on Adora's supportive shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm pretty sure it is, yeah. Why, you getting tired of it?" Adora probed sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't think I ever will," Catra reassured her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'When Doves Cry' is better, though," Adora snarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You mean you were already a fan of this guy and you didn't tell me?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well! Isn't that just lovely! I dunno if I'll ever be able to trust you again after this, Adora," Catra laughed dryly in the wake of her mocked outrage, "Seriously, though. Happy anniversary, babe. You did good." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just wait until later…" Adora muttered under her breath, almost moaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Catra asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing! Just enjoy the dance, hun," Adora blurted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they did. Catra, though confused at Adora's bizarre mumbles, simply leaned into her lover's embrace and let her sweep her off her feet for the duration of that song. It felt like just another head trip that this old Earth-That-Was tune, this weird little emotional outpouring by this singer with a dramatically ironic name given all the princesses running about, had somehow become their anthem. It was a picturesque lyrical portrait of their story, spelling out the way Catra felt in ways she herself could not say. It all sounded ridiculous when she ran it over in her head, but it was true. This unconventional rendition of their story continued until Adora suddenly broke their mutual, loving silence around the second guitar solo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, you're awfully cute in that uniform…" Adora remarked, biting her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why thank you, Adora. 'Twas custom-made," Catra said, purring more audibly at the compliment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Twas?' Really?" Adora laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Tis an excellent word." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora simply rolled her eyes. She suddenly broke apart their embrace, grabbing hold of Catra's wrist. The Lord Protector had hardly a moment to question just what was going on before she found herself being pulled away somewhere. What was Adora doing? Where was she leading her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where's the fire, bros?" Scorpia called from the sidelines with Perfuma and Blossom in tow, all three looking confused (even the baby, somehow), "The song's not even over yet!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora hardly even acknowledged Scorpia's presence, or anyone else's for that matter. She simply kept leading Catra by the hand to...somewhere. Past the stage they went, all the way to reception and up the flight of stairs to the guest bedrooms. Catra thought to maybe ask what was going on--she had a hunch, but was unsure--but the words weren't coming. She was merely paralyzed in confusion, and felt as if everything was happening in fast motion. Adora just kept pulling Catra down the hall, tripping her over her own bootheels, until they arrived at a familiar door amongst the rooms: room 7. Their room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does that dress have space for a key?" Catra asked, still a bit dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I left the key in my other pants. Left the door unlocked. I figured nobody would be stupid enough to break into She-Ra's room," Adora explained as she turned the doorknob and opened the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just what the hell is going on, Adora?" Catra seemed confused--</span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> confused--but her voice had playful undercurrents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora said nothing, merely stepping inside. The music from downstairs still throbbed faintly, and Catra truly wondered just what direction this evening would take next as she leaned against the hallway wall. She got her answer when Adora grabbed her wrist yet again, yanking her into the bedroom with reckless abandon. Catra felt more than a little disoriented, but before she could even so much as contemplate collecting her bearings she heard the door slam shut and felt herself be restrained. Adora pinned Catra against the wall, pressed her weight up against hers and kissed her with almost violent passion. Catra couldn't help but moan reflexively at her lover's strong touch, her domineering side turning the Lord Protector into a total pushover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so fucking wet…" Adora snarled into Catra's ear, making her moan louder, "...Let's get you out of that sexy uniform of yours, kitten." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra simply held her tongue, letting her body wordlessly signal for Adora to continue to make her her bitch. Her Lord Bitch? Hmm. Regardless, Catra felt Adora slowly unbutton her shirt, yanking it out from where it was tucked into her trousers and tossing it to the floor along with the greatcoat slung across the shoulders. Adora handled Catra's bra easily enough, unhooking it in a matter of moments despite how finicky this one could get. Her pants were a bit of a slow burn, Adora merely unzipping them instead of pulling them off. Catra soon found out why as her lover slid her hand down the unzipped front and removed her stiff womanhood from her panties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood there in the doorway between the hall, the door and the room for a delicious series of minutes, Adora's firm hand teasing Catra's girlcock. The gentle strokes against the Lord Protector's shaft were enough to almost make her squeal, already giving herself over to the Princess in totality. Adora stood there, pinning Catra against the wall and giving her a mindblowing handjob, for such a while that there were times Catra was certain she was about to cum. Yet that explosion of release never came, with Adora almost telepathically knowing just when to slow down. Catra whined in some feeling close to disappointment, somehow still knowing the best was yet to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora...I," she panted, "Jesus." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not done with you yet. Not even close," Adora growled, "I've wanted you all day, and now I finally have you alone. You don't get to blow your load just yet." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, the wait was definitely worth it to Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wh-what more do you want?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Take your boots off. Pants, too. All of it," Adora ordered, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, soldier! You're my Lord Protector, aren't you? So do what I say!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was almost floored at Adora's dominance tonight, taking her so by total surprise after days of soft sex and warmth. It caught her off guard. She'd almost forgotten that Adora was indeed a top to the core, and that she wasn't above this level of boldness. Catra sat wordless for a bit, still shaking from lust, then snapped back into action undressing herself. As she went for the tops of her boots, she saw a glint of warmth on Adora's face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're doing amazing, by the way," Adora reassured her, tone switching from dominant to sweet, "If you're not feeling this just say the word. We can get you dressed up and head back to the party if that's more your speed right now." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Catra thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>There's something really hot about how much she respects consent. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I'm definitely feeling it," Catra's voice was all shaky as she clawed her boots and trousers fully off, including her undergarments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lovely. Then where were we? Oh, right…" Adora said mischievously as she dug her hands into Catra's shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips met with the same aggressive fire again, letting Adora fully take control. It was the Lord Protector's duty to serve the Princess in whatever way she needed, and Catra considered this to be included. Adora was more than Catra's princess; she was her goddess, her Athena, her Ishtar, her Bastet. She could worship at that altar all fucking night long, and that was precisely what she planned to do for this magnificent Amazon. Evidently Adora planned for just the same outcome, for as they approached the bed she pulled what was quickly becoming a trademark Adora move and pushed Catra onto it. The Lord Protector lay there helplessly, letting herself sprawl nude on the bed and turn towards her lover. She watched in total, heated amazement as Adora undid her dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing what was underneath: nothing. She was completely naked beneath the garment, with her breasts, abs and neatly-groomed womanhood on display for Catra to take in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora pounced on her lover and resumed kissing her, feeling Catra purr beneath her weight. With one arm she held Catra to the bed, with the other she went for the nightstand. Again, Catra found herself being hit in the face with a small metallic object, only this time she was prepared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get yourself kitted out, soldier," Adora taunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Y-yes, ma'am," Catra whimpered, unwrapping the condom and trying her best to roll it on while Adora straddled her. At least with a site like that glaring down at her, staying hard wasn't an issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good girl. You're so cute...look at how hard you are," Adora smirked, "Just say the word and I'll stop if this is going too far." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora, for God's sake, I want this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was hoping you'd say that…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora moved beyond straddling Catra and guided her length into her cunt, the heat driving Catra insane. After edging her like that earlier, she was incredibly eager to go. She was especially eager to try this with Adora on top, moreover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This--</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>--isn't because I like you or anything. I'm just--</span>
  <em>
    <span>hnng</span>
  </em>
  <span>--doing my job, y'know," Catra taunted, though her face said it all. Which is to say she was simply being a brat, and she definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora if one could put it that gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So do your fucking job, then," Adora sneered, slowly beginning to move her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Catra did her job and serviced the Princess. Passionately. Loudly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All fucking night long. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In a way, Catra and Adora truly did light the town on fire that night. Well, they got as far as the hotel room anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Catra awoke the next morning feeling drained in all the best ways. As she reoriented herself into the waking world, she found the room just as they'd left it: trashed, thrashed, and with four used condoms in the garbage can. The few hours of the night Catra had spent sleeping and not getting her brains screwed out were peaceful. The dreams were in a remission for now, which left Catra to simply build up her confidence without any devils on her shoulder. Judging by what had transpired, it was working. She was truly in a headspace where for just </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>she could feel pleasure without guilt, without dysphoria. No one was calling her an abomination, although Adora definitely called her some other colorful names last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a coffee machine on the table opposite their bed, a far less advanced model than the one back home. Somehow, they'd managed to not knock it over. Catra found something to cover up with in the form of an extra blanket and trudged slowly to the table. Her priorities were the same as always when it came to morning rituals. As the coffee machine started up and she waited for it to dispense with its bean juice, Catra walked to the window and took in the view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a pretty breathtaking perspective on Station 9, Catra admitted. This town she'd known for being a bit of a backwoods podunk was actually quite a cute mix of modern and </span>
  <em>
    <span>antebellum</span>
  </em>
  <span> architecture. All of it was just thrown together in this weirdly complimentary hodgepodge. There was something a little odd in the streets below, however. People weren't filling the sidewalks quite yet, with only a few brave early riders in sight, but Catra saw one pedestrian who just seemed a little creepy. Below, practically hiding in an alley between two shops, was an austere, almost crow-like middle aged woman with gaudy bleached hair. This wouldn't have been so noteworthy if she didn't appear to be looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>directly at </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra. The Lord Protector simply gazed out in confusion, and eventually the woman just took off and disappeared into the alleyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra tried to shake the chills she got from that encounter, chills she was sure weren't just from her barely-robed state. Did the woman </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her? She was sure that she saw a smile. If her eyes weren't deceiving her, she was also sure it was certainly not a friendly smile. The coffee machine dinged, and Catra just tried to forget the whole thing as she poured herself a mug. Her nerves certainly weren't soothed, however, when she heard a soft, asynchronous knock on the door. She damn near spilled her coffee, and spilled coffee was definitely a reason for tears unlike spilled milk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Coming!" She shouted, voice cracking from sleepiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra hurriedly tracked down her suitcase, hidden underneath the bed, and grabbed her change of clothes. Predictably, it was a brown-and-yellow flannel and some jeans. Picking her mug of coffee back up and taking a deep, conscious breath, she threw the door open expecting the worst. The site that greeted her, however, was not terrifying but rather adorable. A little girl with silver, flower-laden hair and a green dress stood in the doorway, a tiny scorpion tail sticking out of the back of her dress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi!" Blossom smiled in that incredibly sincere way young children were known to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, hey Bloss. You're up early. Where are your moms?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sleeping 'cause they were up all night," Blossom giggled, the words coming out about as fumbled as one would expect from a little kid, "Is auntie Adora okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra scrunched her face in bewilderment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, she's doing great, just sleeping," she explained, looking back at Adora. She was huddled under the covers tight, snoring peacefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" Blossom asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have coffee, so yes." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay! Last night I heard lots of crashes and shouts. It came from your room. Mommies laughed, but I got scared." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Catra realized what this was about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, well, I, uh...</span>
  <em>
    <span>appreciate </span>
  </em>
  <span>your concern. That's nothing to worry about, though," she fumfered, struggling to come up with how she'd inevitably have to explain this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really?" Blossom asked, wide-eyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah, really. You see, when two grown-ups like each other a lot, they tend to, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>smash stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> together." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like a game?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, sure. Exactly like a game, yeah." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blossom, you know better than to listen to auntie Catra before she's had her morning coffee," a third voice that Catra instantly recognized as Perfuma joked. Catra's close friend and fellow trans woman came down the hall in her viridian, floral housecoat, clearly having just woken up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're working on it," Catra pointed to her mug of coffee and sipped it. It was kind of crappy and the lack of almond milk was tragic, but it was better than the mud water they had in the Horde. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honey," Perfuma kneeled and put a hand on Blossom's shoulder, "why don't you go find tall mommy? She was supposed to bring us breakfast and should be back by now, maybe you two can get a head start with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ooh! Okay, flower mommy! Bye, auntie Catra!" Blossom called as she ran back to the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she was absolutely sure Blossom was out of earshot, Perfuma smiled at Catra knowingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Catra asked, knowing full well where this was headed assuming Blossom had been telling the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So that happened," Perfuma said with what may have been a suppressed laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What happened?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know what.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what you're talking about." Catra hid a smirk, sipping her coffee gingerly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean, Adora said you two were </span>
  <em>
    <span>experimenting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that was definitely not just an experiment! I had to sleep with my hands over the baby's ears!" Perfuma exclaimed in a weird whisper-shout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, Adora told you about it?" Catra rolled her eyes, "That gossipy bitch…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is just...oh, I'm gonna need details!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. no you will not." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on! You can tell me these things, sis!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not playing your little games, Lebowski." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay. I...respect your privacy," Perfuma smiled with warmer intent now, "I'm really proud of you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're </span>
  <em>
    <span>proud </span>
  </em>
  <span>of me?" Catra felt confused, though her tone seemed humorous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I'm proud of you! Catra, when we first met, you were always so ashamed of your body. I've tried to help you feel more confident, and it looks like it's paid off. Sort of," Perfuma explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, uh, thanks I guess,” Catra shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfuma’s smile got pronouncedly more ridiculous. She suddenly brought Catra into a tight embrace, thankfully not spilling her coffee. If that had been the case, there likely would’ve been hell to pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My little sister is embracing herself more...I’m so proud…” she said, overpouring with emotion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, okay Lebowski, let’s not make this weird,” Catra nudged off Perfuma’s hug, trying not to be rude but also very much wishing this conversation was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Heh, sorry. I’m just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so happy for you!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Perfuma centred herself, “Now, would you care to join my wife and I for waffles? Well, presumably waffles. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was getting waffles, but I can never trust her to make a concise order when she’s hungry and--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, relax. I’d love to. I’m gonna wake up Adora and check with her first, and then I’ll come back,” Catra explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great! I’ll see you in a bit, sis!” Perfuma said as she tucked back into her room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra stood in the doorway for a couple more mouthfuls of coffee, then looked back at Adora on the bed. She thought of last night with almost no real conflict. It just made her happy. At the end of the day, that should have been all that mattered. As for Perfuma, she was a little odd with her positivity but still had a good heart. Just thinking about last night and today made her thankful for having good friends, an amazing girlfriend, and a pretty good shot at finally leaving her past behind for good. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just had sex and I’m about to eat waffles, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the greatest moment of my life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Best Laid Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So, it's official. Catra and Adora have been together for three years, and life is pretty sweet. Something strange is happening with Adora, though. She isn't herself, and it's beginning to make Catra worried. What could Adora be hiding that's somehow too much to even tell her closest friend and lover?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 6: The Best Laid Plans</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Every day after Catra and Adora's anniversary somehow only served to help the Lord Protector fall further in love with the Princess. They cuddled, cooked, exercised together, went to bars and shops and all the like. And yes, sometimes they got intimate, and Catra got better at managing her dysphoria around it. Sometimes there would be nightmares, and Catra simply asserted she wasn't interested on those days. Generally, though, her confidence was getting better and the dysphoria faded away into euphoria. Julie even agreed that she was making some really awesome progress as the months went by. So, other than occasional desk jobs and meetings of the political or military variety (which Catra slept through more often than not), all was good in the world. Or so Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was around about the turn of the seasons, as the leaves began to change and the weather began to bluster, that Catra began to observe things getting...weird. She wasn’t sure if ‘weird’ necessarily meant ‘bad’--Adora still seemed her usual self, at least ostensibly--but ‘weird’ definitely meant just that. Something just seemed off about Adora, and she didn’t quite know what. The first, most glaring example of ‘weird’ in its most prominent and unnerving form was one night when they returned from going to a concert together. It had been some outfit of guys with long hair dressed like bikers singing about war and demons and stuff, the usual Adora tunes. The idea to go had just shown up spontaneously, but Catra went along with it because she knew it would make her metalhead girlfriend ecstatic (or would in theory, as she soon discovered). Catra awoke that night, long after they’d gone home and were theoretically asleep in bed, to the muffled sound of Adora sobbing. She cuddled her lover sleepily and asked what was wrong, but Adora couldn’t answer for some odd reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Days passed, and the incidences of Catra waking in the little hours of the night only to find Adora in tears only piled up. Adora would just unexpectedly take the two out for a night on some adventure--films, hikes, sometimes even museums--and then come home and break down when she thought Catra wasn’t looking. Every time it seemed to be preceded by some completely random journey, and every time Adora </span>
  <em>
    <span>refused </span>
  </em>
  <span>to give a straight explanation; Catra respected her privacy, but it was getting a little worrying. The Lord Protector’s duty was to support the Princess of Power, so how the ever-loving fuck was Catra supposed to do that when she didn’t even know what she was supporting her in? She loved Adora, she would do utterly anything for her, so why couldn’t she help with this? And why did it keep happening? The weirdest part, however, was yet to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra came home one night, the victim of an overtly-long instruction session at the garrison for some fresh-faced conscripts. She made herself an admittedly stupid late-night cup of dark roast, figuring she was so exhausted from firing drills and tossing dummy frag grenades that the caffeine would have minimal effect on her ability to sleep. She then headed to the bathroom, changed out of her uniform and folded it, took a piss, and washed her hands and face. Around the time she was changing into something comfy for bed--giant hoodie and sweatpants, fuck yeah--something in the trash can caught the corner of her eye. Some kind of odd little pink box, kind of oblong...it looked like it might’ve been for a pregnancy test, but that just didn’t make sense. Maybe Scorpia and Perfuma were trying to give Blossom a friend? Adora had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane </span>
  </em>
  <span>with inviting guests over lately, going so far as to invite that pyromaniac himbo General Sea Hawk over one night. Catra had been known to describe the past three years as ‘surreal’, but things were getting really trippy right about now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple of days went by--along with a couple of sleeps where Adora didn’t need comforting, strangely enough--and Catra found herself in the study, reading some article on the laptop about writing food reviews. She’d been seriously thinking about Glimmer’s little offer, fancying herself leaving soldiering behind for good to go write about how much she hated Etherbucks’ new drink or something. Write </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>get paid, no less. Something else she was finding was that food review videos were quite popular on video sharing sites, just clips of guys in their cars picking apart hamburgers. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought with confidence, </span>
  <em>
    <span>That could totally be me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her adventures in food reviews were suddenly interrupted by a shaky knock on the door. Catra’s eyes immediately darted from the screen to Adora, standing in the doorway with her jogging gear still on. She was trying to look inconspicuous, that much seemed apparent, but she truly looked close to broken. For the first time since the war Adora looked positively sleep-deprived, while the smile she wore was a trembling facsimile of her usual smile. Adora may have been a wall of muscles and scars, but today she seemed to be made of glass. Yet she was trying desperately to hide all this, and Catra saw it fitting to simply play along and not press. After all, pressing hadn't done much good so far, now had it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Adora," Catra said in a genuinely warm voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, kitten! Sorry to interrupt, I'm just letting you know we're going for dinner at L'etranger's tonight with Bow and Glimmer!" Adora explained, the enthusiasm she held being clearly feigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"L'etranger's...that's the one with the creme brulee I like, right?" Catra asked. It was honestly a really decent creme brulee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yep! That's definitely the one!" Adora said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Catra was still taken a bit aback by this, though it did seem in line with the overall pattern in daily activities, "Don't think my uniform is set to be dry cleaned for another couple days, I'll go get it ready--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no uniforms. This is just a normal dinner with no fancy dress stuff. Totally normal," Adora maintained her faux-outgoing demeanor, but for a split second the facade cracked with a faltering smile and a sigh, "Why can't things just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, w-we can do normal, normal sounds great," Catra stuttered, worried, "Adora, are you feeling okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got off the couch and walked over to the door where her girlfriend was. Not thinking about anything except trying to comfort Adora, Catra brought a hand to gently rest on her shoulder. In a move that left Catra shocked at how uncharacteristic it was, Adora pushed her hand away and then turned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine. It's nothing," Adora snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Adora, this doesn't seem like </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We've been together for three years. Whatever's bothering you, you can trust me with it. I promise. I just want to help. Please, Adora," Catra pleaded, giving a pause in the hopes that Adora might chime in like she always did and put Catra’s mind at ease, “Well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unphased, Adora turned and silently walked towards the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at Catra one last time, eyes full of something between pain and guilt. The corners of her mouth might’ve creased, but the gesture was polite rather than genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you at dinner, Catra,” Adora’s voice was a mere monotone now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, wait--” Catra started, still cracking under desperation and fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was already walking up the stairs, however. If there had been a window for Catra to break through, she’d missed it by a country mile. There was nothing left to do except sit in the study alone, trying to make sense of it all. She tried to catch her breath and centre herself, fists clenching and relaxing over and over, but her nerves were so shot to shit it was like a bandage over a gaping axe wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Idiot…” Catra cursed under her breath. She thought they were done with this. She thought Adora </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. For God’s sake, it had been three years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat in silence among the relics of their past, their shared progress in turning this war-torn backwater planet into a burgeoning democracy. Her legs curled tightly to her chest and her chin met the lower part of her neck in a position that spoke to her frustration with a vast, uncaring, senseless universe. Already she heard snatches of Adora weeping through the vents, and it wasn’t long before she joined in. Well, not much left to do except wait and see how dinner would go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>L’etranger’s was a bizarre place. With a name like that, something that flourished in the archaic Earth-That-Was tongue of French rather than Etherian Basic, Catra would’ve assumed it was a high-class establishment. L’etranger’s was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a bastion of high society, however: on the contrary, it was actually quite down-to-Earth and casual. It played out more like an idea of what was fancy conceived by someone with no experience with fanciness. It was modest, homely. Catra liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer and Bow were as amiable as ever, thankfully. They’d talk about their relationship and lending aid to the Stations nearest to Bright Moon, as well as miscellaneous silly things that had happened in and around the castle. Pranking soldiers, crashing meetings and the like. After years of serving under a stick-in-the-mud cyborg jerkbag like Hordak--or worse, a genocidal maniac like Horde Prime--Catra found it refreshing to have a head of state with a sense of humor. Sure, it might’ve seemed worrying to any more orthodox members of society that the person running this huge expansionist project was a bit of a goofball, but for Catra it kind of made the whole operation more human. Glimmer and Bow’s plans for the future and maybe getting engaged did come up a couple of times too, but it seemed to be a touchy subject. The consensus was that the world was perhaps a bit too mercurial and twitchy right now to see a Queen marry a combat engineer, even one who was a war hero; Catra still felt unsure about whether it was getting about time to pop the question to Adora, but at the moment she wasn’t even sure where this relationship of hers was going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was another thing. Even if Adora’s goal was to have a ‘normal’ dinner, she was missing the mark. She laughed too hard at every single joke, and even some statements that were barely even jokes at all. Sometimes she’d just get ominous out of nowhere. Glimmer threw down some offhand remark about how nice it was to get out of the house and see the world beyond the capitol for once, and Adora’s response was to say something about ‘enjoying it while it lasts’ in this creepy, borderline haunted vibe. Catra and Adora had somehow forged a bond that survived a war and a massive reformation, and now things were just suddenly tense for some top secret reason? Catra’s meal may have been delicious, but it was becoming impossible to focus on enjoying the moment with all this anxiety in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, we ordering dessert?” Bow asked towards the end of the evening, not long after they’d all finished their meals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had like two baskets of garlic bread between the two of you,” Glimmer pointed both her hands at the Lord Protector and the engineer, “And you’re thinking about dessert?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I always have room for dessert,” Bow said with a shrug and a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re gonna get dessert, order the creme brulee. Best item on the menu, hands down,” Catra suggested</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, creme brulee...there’s an idea…” Bow’s eyes widened with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you tell us about why it’s so good, Catra?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, don’t get her started. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bow’s tone turned to fear, now anticipating the overly wordy foodie rant that was doubtlessly incoming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, glad you asked, Your Highness. It ticks all the usual boxes, of course, being a pretty decent caramel custard thingy that’s had the top torched until crispy. They mix what I think might be blueberries in with the soft bit, though, which gives it a more complex texture and a bit of an acidic note. Kind of neutralizes how sweet and creamy the custard is so you don’t just taste spoonfuls of sugar goop, y’know? With that in mind, I’m also pretty sure they salt the custard, giving the whole dessert a distinct…what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yeah…” Catra rambled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, don’t say it,” Bow rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umami undertone,” Catra smirked at Bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, why would you do this?” Bow asked Glimmer, “She’s evil! She makes dessert all weird and sad and stuff!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What she is, my love, is a well-spoken culinary wordsmith. Have you given much more thought to my offer, Catra?” Glimmer asked, turning to the Lord Protector. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, Sparkles. I was out at Station 9’s garrison--y’know, Fort Mara--the other day and the latest batch of whiteshields are a bunch of morons. We’re pulling in clueless farmhands who can’t even properly fix a bayonet. You sure the Royal Army can survive without me?” Catra pondered, though deep down all she wanted to say was </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell yeah I have, and I’ll do it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they’d learn a little faster without having to lug your ego around,” Glimmer laughed, “No, but really, the EPG has no shortage of veterans. You’ve worked hard to shape our doughboys into a well-oiled fighting machine, Catra. Getting someone to cover for you is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>an unreasonable ask in my eyes, and since I’m the Queen I’d say my eyes are the only set that matter here. Hell, I’ll do you one better. I’ll cover for you. Been meaning to get back into the field, just like the good ol’ days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt like a solid plan was coming together, although she admitted she shared none of Glimmer’s nostalgia for those ‘good ol’ days’. The ‘good ol’ days’ for her meant being the attack dog of a fascist and trying to kill the love of her life. She was perfectly okay to be rid of that. Catra was about to continue negotiating, but then Adora weighed in and things predictably got weird again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, I think you should take it. You’d be closer to home, and safer too,” she suddenly interjected. The reasoning sounded kind of off as far as usual Adora support went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, I’m already close to home. I’d say I’m safe as well. We’re not exactly at war or anything, and even if we were you know I can take care of myself in the field,” Catra said skeptically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just looking out for you,” Adora stated, voice taut and almost resentful. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but it’s really okay, I know what I’m doing--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having a bit of a lover’s quarrel? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be pushy,” Glimmer butted in apologetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope! No! No lover’s quarrels here! Everything is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Adora reassured her, though she was barely convincing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay then…</span>
  </em>
  <span>Moving on,” Glimmer attempted a segue, “You guys have been really good with reaching out lately, I must say. Kind of feels like the Best Friends Squad is back together. Tonight was a good night for it though, what with the shooting and all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” Catra asked, taken aback by the casual mention of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shooting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, someone opened fire on a street corner over in Station 1 just yesterday.  We’ve been keeping details private, but we figured it got around already. This is coming right after that shitshow with the bombing and that whole thing with my dad almost getting killed. Kinda awful,” Glimmer explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. That close to Bright Moon, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. So now we’re out a mining planet, my dad’s in the hospital, and Station 1 is under lockdown. So you can see why Bow and I were eager to get out of the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I get that. They find who did it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geez, I dunno. Bow, you said you had something?” Glimmer turned to her partner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The detachment we sent to Station 1 caught one of the shooters, but we think there might be a second one. Said he was a part of something called the ‘Second Legion’. Probably a bandit gang. Report says it all,” Bow spoke his piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was uncomfortable. Were the attacks linked, perhaps? Was this what was eating Adora up inside? Catra knew her girlfriend had access to all sorts of stuff beyond the bureaucratic red tape and a lot of it was classified. Maybe she came across something about this in her deskwork, and it set her on edge? It would explain the overprotectiveness handily, but then why was she so eager to get out of the house with gunmen about? Something didn’t add up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably change the subject. Sorry to be a couple of downers, guys,” Bow said with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felt good to vent a bit, at least,” Glimmer added, similarly deflated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kidding me? Sounds like you guys have had it rough. All the more reason for dessert!” Catra slapped the table, feeling it would add something between effect and levity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might need something a bit stronger. I’m thinking champagne,” Glimmer added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but hear me out here...dessert </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>champagne?” Bow suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m down for that!” Catra exclaimed, “Adora, dessert and champagne?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the response was weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dessert sounds nice. No drink for me, though,” Adora said absentmindedly, almost grimacing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? You don’t usually skip champagne--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, someone has to drive us home. This is me volunteering,” Adora tried to explain, but of course no one was buying it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, we came here with Glimmer’s chauffeur. I’d assume </span>
  <em>
    <span>they’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>driving. You feeling okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay Catra? Why don’t you just--” Adora’s voice began to rise in frustration before she paused and sucked in a breath, fists clenched around the tablecloth, “Excuse me. I’m going to the bathroom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora got up and stormed off, leaving a vacuum of awkward silence. Catra felt close to tears herself, but she managed to centre herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just concentrate on the creme brulee, you dumb lesbian. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll bite. Is it me or is Adora acting really weird?” Glimmer asked, breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really? What was your first clue? When me and Bow were talking about Dutch babies earlier and she burst into tears for no reason, or whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was just now? By the way Robin Hood, I know a place back at home that does awesome Dutch babies. We should go, I’ll spare you the nerdiness, it’ll be chill,” Catra fired off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it, girl,” Bow said, though both he and Glimmer were clearly a bit shocked from everything that had transpired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. I’m sorry, guys. She’s been off for weeks, getting upset about </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>that she won’t tell me about. It’s really freaking me out and I feel useless and--” Catra’s words continued to race. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa. Deep breaths, Catra. I think it's pretty clear we've all got a lot on our plates. Uh, metaphorically, that is. It's probably best if we skip dessert, go home, and calm down. You need to be there for Adora right now. That much is obvious," Bow always seemed to come through with good advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno, man," Catra said apprehensively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust us, Catra. If anyone can get through to her, it's you. Besides, since when does the Lord Protector give up on her Princess?" Glimmer suggested, trying to sound motivational. She did have experience with that, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not now, not ever. Thanks, guys," Catra smiled, rising to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll have Francois take the car around and drive you two home. Good luck," Glimmer smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, check please!" Bow called to a nearby waiter, seemingly in some reference to old Earth-That-Was comedic tropes. Catra was already leaving by then though, thus being unable to appreciate the joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra ended up waiting across from the washrooms for about five minutes, doubtlessly looking like a creep, before determining that Adora was either no longer there or hadn't been there to begin with. Instead, she found her girlfriend outside. On any other night, she would’ve been hypnotized by the beauty of Adora in that black dress, hair up in the usual way with her sweet little hair poof coiffed with perfection. Not tonight, though. She had other things on her mind, and she intended to make them known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. Look, Glimmer’s sending the chauffeur to come get us, but I need to talk to you first. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually talk. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t know what it is you’re hiding, but I can’t do this anymore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t do this anymore, Adora. I don’t want to see you keep getting hurt. I get that sometimes things can be hard to confess. Sometimes they can be hard to explain, too. I get it, I really do, but I need you to just trust me, just…” she caught her breath, “What the fuck, Adora? Please, I love you. Like, more than anything. So please just tell me what’s wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sat in silence for quite a while, Catra’s eyes on Adora and Adora’s eyes on the stars. Catra fully expected another cold shoulder. She really thought this could be the end for a split second, and that Adora would just go storming off into the night and this whole rotten situation would only start making sense years later. Fortunately, however, Adora picked that time to stop being weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Catra. At least, I think that’s the phrase I’m looking for. Look, I won’t sugarcoat this, I’ve been...really damn immature about this. There’s something I’ve needed to tell you, something big. You deserve to know sooner rather than later. I’ll explain everything when we get home,” she approached Catra and gently kissed her, a gesture so pure and sweet it had to have been genuine, “I love you so much, kitten. No matter what happens. I just hope you love me back after all this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt like her body was in one place, but her mind was somewhere else. She wasn’t sure if she was at ease, or just more anxious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay, okay, right. No, yeah, you’re fine. I spent three years trying to kill you. If you can forgive me for that, I’m sure I can forgive you for this,” Catra grinned like an idiot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know the half of it,” Adora said ominously, voice breaking a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them sat there in embrace, waiting for the car to pull up so they could finally get home. When it finally did, Catra sat in the back with Adora in silence, their hands held together but their eyes firmly on their respective windows. She wished this car could go faster. She wanted to get home and get this over with, this confession of a crime of the highest order that would supposedly obliterate their relationship. No amount of PMR or centring was going to take the sting of anxiety off of this one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they got home, the two lovers sat on the couch for a bit and stared into space. The telescreen across the room was a nightmarish obsidian mirror in proper Monolith style. What was once an innocuous household object became for a moment a powerful symbol of existential dread. The silence between the two reached a fever pitch before Adora finally broke the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you want me to tell you what’s going on, and I know that I should. I do trust you. You know that, right? This...it’s too big, though. I don’t know how I’m supposed to--” she started, only for a weirdly jovial Catra to pipe in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I have a bit of an idea. Remember when we were kids, and we had secrets we had to get off our chest?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm...Oh, yeah! Like when I cheated on explosives training? I was too scared that the grenade would blow up in my face, so I swapped test scores with Kyle in exchange for extra ration bars,” Adora reminisced. The corners of her mouth were twitching into a genuine smile, clearly feeling the levity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay! Also, damn Adora, I forgot that one! Cold as ice! Anyway, we used to play a game when we had things to confess. One of us would count to three, and then the other would </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say the secret by the time we got to three. Now, you’re probably thinking, ‘Catra, you ignorant slut! Are you going somewhere with this? Get on with it, or I’ll have to hold you extra tight with my big muscular arms when we cuddle tonight!’” Catra joked, doing her best faux-Adora voice and puffing her chest up while brandishing an imaginary sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora burst out laughing in a normal, authentic way for the first time in weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just what I thought you’d say, you dumb fucking space marine! Fear not, however! I’m not just here to look pretty and be a crack shot with an auto rifle, y’know! What I am suggesting is that we bring that game back. Right here, right now. You and me. I’ve got plenty of dirty laundry I could haul out, so don’t feel like you’re alone. I always play fair,” Catra smiled, unsure how she was somehow pulling this off, “So what do you say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay. I’d like that. You go first, though,” Adora said. It was so fucking nice seeing her back to her usual self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal!” Catra exclaimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora seemed to be taking a minute to think. Pangs of pain were still visible on her face, but she seemed almost reassured in a way. At least she wasn’t wearing that same creepy fake smile anymore. Could this maybe work? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so I guess that means I do the counting first? Okay, let’s do this!” Adora seemed enthusiastic, “3…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra had a good one ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“2…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was probably her deepest, darkest secret. She was almost afraid to spill the beans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ate your apple fritters on New Year’s Eve!” Catra cried out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of them </span>
  </em>
  <span>or just the last one?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like all of them. I just saw the box there, and I’d had too many beers, and boom, every last crumb gone. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I had a soft spot for that bakery, babe,” Catra continued her confession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I told you they closed, you locked yourself in our room and spent two hours bawling,” Adora laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were good fritters, okay? Shut up, don’t judge me!” she playfully pushed Adora, only to get completely knocked on her ass into the other end of the couch, “Hey, is this helping?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It definitely is, yeah,” Adora looked apprehensive again, but there was renewed confidence present nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...I guess now you go?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just give me a minute. I think I have to figure this out just a bit more,” she winced, sucking a breath in and putting her steepled hands to her forehead, “Okay. I’m good. Just...promise me that whatever happens, you’ll be cool?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise, babe. Like a cucumber. Well, maybe not a cucumber, because I hate those. Some other cool thing, I guess,” Catra explained awkwardly but sincerely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe like an Iron Maiden album cover or something?” Adora asked sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that thing. Whatever that is. I’m that. Okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! 3…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra wasn’t sure what she was bracing herself for. Anything, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“2…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t ready for this, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra, I’m pregnant,” Adora blurted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that just didn’t make sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...Umm...I...What? I--heh--I think I have to get my ears checked, Adora. I just heard you say you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>having a baby </span>
  </em>
  <span>pregnant. And that makes no sense,” Catra fumfered, feeling once again like her brain and body were in two separate locations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing wrong with your ears. You heard me right," Adora stated, voice going flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was...well, it was certainly an odd turn of events. How the heck did that happen? Sometimes people said they felt like their head was spinning, but this was like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole room </span>
  </em>
  <span>was spinning. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing by any stretch, mind you. It was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. But also, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Catra mumbled, “Okay. For sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took two different tests, one of which was two nights ago. I haven’t gotten my period for two months</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s without getting into the other symptoms. I’d say it’s for sure at this point,” Adora almost sounded like she was reading off a list. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so who’s baby is it?” Catra asked, getting straight to the question that was really confusing her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yours, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you goofball. Isn’t it obvious?” Adora let out a nervous laugh, “And you say I’m the idiot…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t add up, though. How could it be Catra’s kid? She wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids. She was infertile. That was what they all always told her. She didn’t suspect Adora of sleeping around--no, never, of course not--so this had to be some weird magic First Ones tech star child. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be. Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I...I don’t understand. Shadow Weaver always told me I couldn’t--” Catra started, feeling short of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you trust her word on this?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She never lied to me. Well, let me rephrase that. She lied to me about a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of stuff, but not my transition. Never my transition.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what? Maybe she got a spell wrong! Maybe she didn’t do her reading on something! Maybe she was scared we’d have a kid, and they’d be such a badass that they’d destroy the Horde!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we already did that. I guess they’re growing up to be an accountant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora snorted, a brief moment of respite amidst this very significant moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The point is you can...well, umm, make babies. Your proof is right here,” she pointed her thumbs inward, “It’s me. I’m the proof.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got that. Well, I guess I still have a lot to learn about my body,” Catra still felt confused, “But, uh, I mean...condoms?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flimsy little things, aren’t they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah. Plus, I do sorta have claws.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh,” Catra paused, “How did it happen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s simple. You stuck your p--” Adora snarked, starting to form a crude gesture with a finger and a connected finger and thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, whoa, nope, not what I meant! Maybe I should say </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>did it happen.” Catra corrected herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had to guess?” Adora got this weird, kind of nostalgic look on her face, “Probably VE Day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course…” Catra laughed dryly, probably looking a little nostalgic now herself, “Well, anyway, this may sound anticlimactic of me, but...that’s pretty cool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re not mad?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra was flabbergasted, moreso by that than even by the revelation at hand, “Why would I be mad? This is amazing! I’m gonna be a mom! Shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna be a mom! I mean, I’m terrified, but--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn’t have an opportunity to finish that sentence. Adora slammed into her at top speed and hugged her tighter than she could ever remember being hugged. Then Adora started sobbing again, and Catra just melted into it. She understood now. Her lover had been so afraid to tell her about this sudden next chapter in their life. Could she really blame her? Catra was an explosive personality even at the best of times, and while she’d made strides she still had a long way to go. She was up for this challenge, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, babe...you’re okay. It’s okay…” she whispered, wrapping herself around Adora tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I was so worried…Christ, I was so goddamn worried...”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Adora sniffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can stop worrying now. I love you, Adora. We’re in this together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you too…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in a tight embrace for quite a long while, Catra just letting Adora get it all out. This whole thing had been buried like a shameful secret for months, and now that it was out in the open Catra honestly felt over the moon. The relief and catharsis must’ve been incredible for Adora. Eventually, the sobbing waned and Adora’s breathing returned to normal. Catra checked the clock on the nearby wall, only to find that it was 11:30. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you must be really tired. How about I bring us some tea and we get ready for bed?” Catra asked softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I once heard you call tea ‘pretentious leaf water for people who can’t handle coffee’,” Adora sniffed and then laughed, still sounding shaky from crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, tonight’s just full of surprises,” Catra joined Adora laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ended up laying Adora down softly across the couch, tucking her into a blanket that had up until that point been decorative. She went upstairs, boiled some water, and poured it over some pretentious leaf water bags. When she brought the prepared tea back downstairs, she was pretty sure Adora was asleep. She was known to snore, ergo dead giveaway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coming to bed, or are you just gonna stay here?” Catra asked, sipping her tea. It actually wasn’t that bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mff. Staying here,” Adora’s face was squished into a cushion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re staying here, I’m staying here,” Catra ran a hand through Adora’s hair, “I’m really excited about this, babe. Honest. I’m not gonna let you down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora remained silent for a bit, save for the sound of her snoring. Catra was getting kind of sleepy herself, and the tea wasn’t exactly helping. It was like anti-coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra?” Adora mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Catra replied, whispering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>really great </span>
  </em>
  <span>mom…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the dream, but Catra really wasn’t sure about that. She was kind of a mess. That didn’t mean she wasn’t damn well going to try, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep, babe,” and she kissed Adora’s forehead and hoped that she’d forget that prediction. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sins of the Mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the wake of Adora's confession, Catra is feeling stricken with so many complicated emotions (most if not all of them good). However, this celebration of sorts is brought to a screeching halt with news of another terrorist attack against the EPG. Station 2's war memorial has become the site of a vicious mass shooting, accompanied by the vandalism of the monument itself. Catra and Adora head to Bright Moon to ease the general public consciousness, unaware that a vicious saboteur lies in wait amongst the crowd...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This chapter was actually quite hard to write so I'm tagging the nastiness in it now. It's not lemony like the other chapters I've tagged beyond mentioned sex acts, but it contains some fairly vitriolic transphobia/misgendering from a very, very bad person. If that's something that makes your skin crawl--Lord knows it did for mine while I wrote it--I would recommend skimming this chapter or even avoiding it and waiting for a brief summary when Ch8 drops. </p><p>Warm regards, </p><p>S_L_H</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 7: Sins of the Mother</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra's situation the following morning was certainly a bit of a one-track one. Her heart raced, and it wasn't simply from the two cups of coffee she'd downed. She knew a new day meant both new responsibilities and new opportunities, but the only thing in her thoughts was the topic of last night. The big reveal that had come up. Holy hell, Adora was preggers and the two of them were gonna be moms! That was kind of amazing, but also more than a little frightening. Just how was that going to pan out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was still sleeping peacefully on the couch, which--as Catra could attest from the night before--was pretty comfortable. Sleeping in was typically not Adora’s thing, preferring instead to get going early with her routine jog, but at the same time last night must’ve been the first time Adora was able to sleep soundly in months. As far as Catra could tell, there hadn’t been any incidences of crying in the night or any other restlessness. The both of them had still been up pretty late though, so Catra just went ahead and let her enjoy decent sleep for now. It helped that she looked really damn cute resting on the couch in the rising sunlight, hair flopped over her eyes and a blanket pulled all the way up to her nose like she was an Adora-burrito. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of food, Catra was contemplating surprising Adora with breakfast of some sort. She figured after all Adora had been through, feeling stressed and conflicted and uncertain inside regarding the baby, she had earned a bit of a treat. Not that Catra ever needed a reason to spoil her, of course. Then again, was this sort of surprise really a good idea right about now? Catra knew morning sickness was a thing, and giving a bunch of food to Adora only for her to get sick because of it was less than ideal. What if she had some weird craving, furthermore? Pancakes with ketchup or something like that? Catra shuddered at the thought, though she was fully prepared to humor an idea like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was largely only going to be one way to find out for sure. She would just have to wait for Adora to wake up, whenever that might be. Having the clock strike 9 and Adora not being up was such a weird feeling, but Catra was good to wait. While she was sipping her coffee and casually flipping through various articles on her communicator, though, she got a message from Glimmer. It was a voice recording, which the Queen usually reserved exclusively for lengthy, important inquiries. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that can’t be good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the message, only to find her prediction had become a reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Catra. I’m sorry to be coming after you at such an early hour, especially what with the stuff you and Adora have going on, but I have news and it’s urgent. There’s been another shooting. Station 2 this time, near a war memorial. Reports are saying the memorial got defaced too. These attacks are beginning to look less like random disasters and more like something...gah, I don’t know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really really fucked up. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We need to come clean and issue a statement. People are scared, and more importantly people are </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Again, I apologize for dropping this on you, but I need you and Adora to get your asses to Bright Moon ASAP. I’ll send a shuttle, just message me when you get this. Stay safe out there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Catra processed the last few syllables of the recording, she felt her heart race for some very different, much darker reasons. Her giddy excitement turned to something between frustration and sorrow. At least it was just a statement, so it wouldn’t take long, but people were dead and that was obviously bad. Not to mention the possibility that these attacks weren’t slapshaw bandit raids but rather some sort of coordinated offensive. Why did this all have to be coming up now? Future parenthood was scary enough as is, and at least it was scary in a good way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning, kitten," Adora interrupted Catra's panicked train of thought, sounding and looking rather groggy but still smiling nonetheless. She was still wearing her dress from last night, and Catra found herself wondering whether that would've been comfy or awkward to sleep in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm the one with all the stealth missions under my belt, and still she gets the drop on me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Adora,” Catra put her cup down, walked over to her lover, and rested a hand gently on her belly, “and...</span>
  <em>
    <span>other.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Other’? Seriously?” Adora laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a better name for them?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hadn’t been thinking about it, no. I had other things to worry about first,” Adora paused, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that because of the--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably. That, and I barely picked at my dinner last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll do it. I was gonna surprise you, but...well, I dunno. Wasn’t sure you’d be up for it. I’ll cook, what are you in the mood for?” Catra asked, moving into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm...bacon and egg sandwich,” Adora sat at the table, resting her head on her hands and wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, what? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> bacon," Catra raised a brow, knowing Adora found the greasy pork strips to be way too salty for her tastes, "Does this mean the cravings are starting?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh God, they're starting…" Adora moved her hands and dropped her head on the table dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe this means you'll finally come around to pineapple on pizza." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In your dreams, you unbelievable sadist…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra snickered to herself as she got a skillet out of their kitchen cabinet. It was worth a shot, at least. It seemed she was never going to indoctrinate Adora into the wonderful joys of sticking yellow tropical fruits on pizza. That didn't count bananas on pizza, mind you. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a travesty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Two bacon and egg sandwiches, coming up. You want your toast buttered?" Catra asked, setting the bread out and then heading for the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yes please. Unbuttered toast is kinda too much like sandpaper for my tastes," Adora replied, still squished into the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, a woman of culture, I see," Catra snarked, slapping some butter into the skillet with a spatula and then heading back to the fridge for the meat and eggs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all of her investment in things like PMR and guided meditation, Catra never really felt more mindful than when she was cooking. Darting back and forth between so many different things--eggs, meat, cheese, butter, bread and all the tools--didn't leave much room for simmering over intrusive thoughts, not to mention it kept her hands busy. The breakfast sandwiches weren't the fanciest dish she'd attempted (the bread was a sourdough she made with her own starter, though), but she still gave it her all. Buttered sourdough beneath and above a fried egg, evenly-crisped bacon, and aged cheddar. Not higher art, but still good in its own way. Catra walked into the kitchen, sliding one sandwich on a dish to Adora and putting the other by her own seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them sat and enjoyed breakfast wordlessly, merely savoring such a flavorful and filling first meal. Adora tore into hers voraciously--she really was hungry--while Catra nibbled hers between sips of coffee. The light from the rising sun was reaching its peak in the sky and the ambience was amazing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How're you liking it?" Catra asked, knowing full well what the answer was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is the greatest and best sandwich I have ever had. Oh my god. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>been sleeping on bacon, haven't I?" Adora explained, seemingly still a little silly from sleepiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Meh. I prefer sausages, but whatever floats your boat, dude," Catra shrugged as she finished off her own sandwich, "And on that happy note, I've got some shitty news." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh no, don't tell me: another movie exec from Dryl is trying to get the rights to our life story?" Adora joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah. That would be bullshit, though, not gonna lie. No, what's happening is we gotta go to Bright Moon later. There's been another shooting. Punks defaced a war memorial, too," Catra's tone swayed between annoyance and indignant disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora' initial response to this revelation was wordless, merely bringing her palms to her face and rubbing them in circles. She sighed deeply, taking it all in. Catra could tell her girlfriend doubtlessly had a lot of mixed feelings about bringing a life into a world riddled with terrorist attacks. She felt exactly the same way. She just hoped Glimmer's predictions proved untrue and the situation got better rather than worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is the world coming to, Catra?" Adora asked, probably rhetorical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dunno, babe. Glimmer thinks the attacks are connected. I think even if they are, though, we'll get through it. Even an </span>
  <em>
    <span>organized</span>
  </em>
  <span> bandit clan is still just a mob of armed psychopaths. Dusted plenty of them during the reformation," Catra looked in her coffee mug and saw that it was almost empty. A pang of disappointment hit her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know. Still doesn't make this any less disturbing. You're still on active duty, what if they need to deploy you? I can’t just throw on the power armor and cover your ass this time, not unless it comes in maternity sizes. Oh, I shouldn’t even joke about that, what am I saying..." Adora's eyes were starting to betray a stinging veneer of panic. Catra knew she had to do something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, babe," she got up from the table, swigged the dregs of her coffee, then moved to Adora's chair and stood beside her with a hand on her cheek, "We’re gonna sort this thing out, one way or another. The Royal Army is the best fighting force in the ‘verse, and we’ll contain the situation just like we have any other disturbance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought they were dumb farmboys? Your words, not mine,” Adora pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Farm</span>
  <em>
    <span>hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We have lady and enby soldiers, too. And even then, we’re still better equipped and trained than anything the bandits can throw at us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, Catra--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora, it’s okay. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>personally ensure </span>
  </em>
  <span>I push through this, like always. Told you I can take care of myself. When all’s said and done, I’ll make the EPG a better place for us. For </span>
  <em>
    <span>all three </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora smiled, feeling Catra rest a hand on her belly for a second again. Catra may have lacked a high tech blade, ancient carapace and unexplainable eldritch abilities like She-Ra had, but she made up for it in grit. She clearly had renewed motivation to fight and protect the EPG if the need arose now, and she wasn’t known to be a quitter. Adora was the headstrong idiot, Catra the meticulous officer. Both had something in common when it came to a conflict, and that was never compromising. Not even in the face of armageddon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I just don’t want you getting hurt. I really want you to be here for them,” Adora rubbed her belly herself now, “They’re gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. I hope you know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well hey, all the more reason for me to watch my ass out there,” Catra winked, though every single utterance of some gushing gesture regarding her parenting skills made her cringe inside, “You can count on me, babe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna try to,” Adora laughed nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re such an idiot. Have some faith,” Catra leaned in and kissed Adora’s cheek, “We should probably get dressed up and ready before it gets too late. I want to rip off the bandage sooner rather than later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I get that. Having all those cameras on us is such a damn headache.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I hear you. Fuckin’ creepy is what it is. I tell you dude, being famous sucks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora did one of those vague semi-laugh things where she blew a bit more air out her nose than usual. With both of them feeling uncertain but mildly pumped--as if there was any other range of emotions to describe the thoughts of future parents, let alone ones embroiled in a brewing, byzantine threat to peace--they headed upstairs to freshen up and get ready for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsewhere, a crow-faced woman boarded a train to Bright Moon, smirking in smug glee at the damage she intended to inflict…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re on in ten. Catra, Adora, you guys good?” Glimmer asked, briefly checking her hair in the powered-down screen of her communicator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was somewhat stuffy in the backroom. Bright Moon was known to tourists for its opulent, glistening spires of </span>
  <em>
    <span>antebellum</span>
  </em>
  <span> craftwork, and of all the venues they picked for this little photo op they settled on a dingy little embassy. Glimmer's rationale was that the closer they inched to the common people, the more caring they'd seem. She definitely gave a shit about the citizenry, anyone who knew the Queen could tell you that, but optics were key and people were known to judge based on that in the absence of some sort of conversation. Obviously Glimmer couldn't meet every citizen, so optics had to do. The poor ventilation and humidity made Catra's fur feel greasy and matted in addition to the overall vibe of strangulation, but she hoped the cameras wouldn't be able to pick up on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I noticed you don't really wear your medals anymore, kitten. What happened with that? They made you look so handsome," Adora teased with a wink, taking a minute to adjust her hair poof. Glimmer had suggested that if she donned her outfit from the Horde war--jacket and all--it would make for a good appeal to emotion for the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're not handsome, they're douchey," Catra grumbled, securing a strap on her greatcoat-cape, "Plus, something irks the fuck out of me about walking around rattling like a keychain." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I guess a cat and dangly shiny things don't mix. Who would've thought? It's kind of the same reason we keep her away from guns with laser sights when she's training the doughboys. Those red dots make her a little, well…" Bow simply spun a finger around his ear, signaling instability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>One day I'll catch it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Catra shouted, claws unseating almost instinctively at the mention of her second worst arch-nemesis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, honey. I believe in you," Adora said sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer's communicator sprang to life, with whatever notification she received leaving her visibly chilled. Things were about to go down. It seemed almost certain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was our pal from Dryl Industries. She's saying the cameras are about to roll. You guys know all your lines?" Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In these trying times, blah blah blah, stay calm, stay safe. How'd I do?" Adora checked with the Queen, who was white as a sheet at the moment. It seemed her stage fright was simply chronic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Close enough. Let's move," Glimmer waved for the door out to the conference room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four leaders marched in a solemn procession through the door, out towards the awaiting mass media ambush. Hopefully this event would mend some things, keeping the public tranquil while maintaining a good relationship with them. It just might be enough to keep the peace. Amidst the worrying, Catra saw an opportunity for levity and pounced upon it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did it have to be her pulling the strings?” she asked, referring to the Dryl CEO behind the cameras outside, “She never gets my good side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you all for joining us today,” Glimmer spoke into the microphone, the Dryl camera drones’ electric eyes trained on her like sniper scopes, “It is with a heavy heart that I announce a shooting occurred at 0600 local time this morning, taking place around the Station 2 war memorial site. This attack marks the fourth sudden act of mass cruelty staged against the Etherian Provisional Government, following a bombing, an attempt on my father’s life, and another shooting outside a Station 1 bodega. While only the shootings have been officially confirmed to connect with the group, we are beginning to suspect that all four attacks are linked to a mysterious bandit cartel calling themselves the Second Legion. I encourage any viewers with information regarding these hooligans to report to their nearest Royal Army garrison immediately. Communicator numbers and direct message addresses will be provided to you through the EPG’s official Etherinet site. Furthermore, we have with us here today Adora, Princess of Power, and Lord Protector Catra of the Royal Army. Both of them have something to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer moved to stage right, allowing Adora and Catra to scooch over to the podium. There was something bizarre about Adora throwing on her old attire to perform in front of a crowd. This was a fairly serious event, but that superficial element of spectacle--of </span>
  <em>
    <span>entertainment, </span>
  </em>
  <span>almost--seemed tasteless. She couldn’t tell for sure if it was reality or simply the work of early pregnancy hormonal things, but something about the whole room felt almost sinister. Like there was a predator lying in weight amongst the crowd, a fox in the henhouse, preparing to strike down her or one of her friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Your Highness. Hello, everyone. In these trying times, I recall some of our darkest days during the Great Horde War and the subsequent reformations. While we cannot say with certainty that this will escalate into open armed warfare, everyone should nonetheless take care of themselves. We don’t know which Stations will be hit next or even if they’ll get hit at all, but we encourage citizens to self-isolate and monitor Royal Army and Marines communications carefully. In addition, if there’s one thing that being She-Ra taught me, it’s that you can’t save ‘em all. Trusting in authority or taking personal responsibility on their own won’t be enough; if we all want to get through this, we’ll need both. Stay home and please trust us,” Adora’s persona attempted something approximating a comforting expert, but she felt almost totalitarian reading off of her script. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra now took the microphone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Adora. As my partner explained, my soldiers and I will be maintaining close contact with citizens during this time of crisis. All four of us grieve alongside the victims’ families, friends and significant others, with reported figures now numbering at 40 dead with an additional 75 to 80 missing or injured. These attacks were seemingly random and pointlessly cruel, though now with news of the defaced monument we suspect possible political motivation. Whatever it is, if any of the perpetrators are watching this, consider yourselves in our crosshairs. We weathered the horrors of the Great Horde War, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>weather you. You came to us with death in your wake, and we will look death in the eye and we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>win. Godspeed, Etheria.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All four of them stepped away from the podium, the statement now concluded. Some people cheered or applauded, but predominantly the mood in the room was a human wall of crazed journalists. Flashes blasted from every which way while an army of rigid, dumpy fellows in ill-fitting suits stabbed at the Best Friends Squad with microphones and pencils. There was one face among the sea, however, who Catra felt an odd sense of familiarity with. Her voice was thankfully as shrill, austere and crow-like as her appearance was, so she wasn’t hard to pick out. She was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair, done over with gaudy Shiraz-colored lipstick and other such makeup expressly designed for an empty veneer of glamour. Her face seemed to be perpetually twisted in a sneer, almost mocking everything that met her gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Catra called, pointing to the crow-woman. She stepped forward, carrying a pencil in one hand and a file folder in the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lord Protector. My name is JF Rollins, freelance reporter and writer of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Etherian Critic </span>
  </em>
  <span>at your service. I have a question for you,” the crow-woman trilled, looking almost like she was quivering in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looked to Adora as if to ask 'should we'. Adora looked over the crow-woman, then looked back to Catra with a stern, suspicious look and nodded slightly. Nothing about this felt right. Catra swore she'd seen this woman somewhere before, and whatever context it had been in wasn't good. It was clear Adora was certainly on her guard, and she was not-so-subtly gesturing for Catra to do the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay. Ask away," Catra said after some hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are your thoughts on the ongoing public suspicion that you are in fact a man?" The crow-woman asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt her heart skip a beat. Her skin felt like it was crawling with the legs of a thousand centipedes. No one had talked about her like that in years, not since the other Horde trainees teased her on the playground when she was little. Not since </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shadow Weaver. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now it was all flooding back, but the optics of the situation demanded she keep her cool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you talking about? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Catra tried to sound tough, like she was brushing it off, but the words felt almost like chunks of vomit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really? Well, I have some interesting research here that may change your perspective," Crowface looked around at the other press representatives, "As well as hopefully some of yours. May I come up and borrow your podium for a minute?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Catra said with hesitation, "Come on up." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowface--err, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rollins</span>
  </em>
  <span>--practically skipped up on stage and slammed her folder on the podium enthusiastically. She smirked at Catra in particular, her perpetually sneering visage somehow more obnoxious than normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, Lord Protector </span>
  <em>
    <span>Catra</span>
  </em>
  <span>...if that even </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>your real name...what do you think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Rollins screeched, opening the folder and spilling its contents everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Catra didn't even flinch at the folder's many items. It was just a bunch of stupid photographs, how could they be damning? Rollins didn't have any transcripts from the Horde orphanages, no certificates, no medical files. It was nothing but photos. Photos couldn't prove shit. Then Catra actually looked at the photos closely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her and Adora. Dozens of photos of her and Adora back in room 7 of that old </span>
  <em>
    <span>antebellum </span>
  </em>
  <span>church, disrobed, and getting very, very hot and heavy. She didn't even know how or why there were so many of these, but oh god, the resolution. It was like watching an Etherinet porn video someone had made of the two without their consent. And yes, everything was visible, which did make it damning to some extent. Fucking hell, there were photos of them in every position. Rollins even got one of them on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>table</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How the fuck were they so goddamn detailed? What kind of camera could even do that? This had to be a nightmare. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up, wake up, wake up…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was when it all started to make sense. Catra </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>seen this woman before on the morning after VE Day. That lurker in the alley outside of the church. That creep had been…no. It felt too sickening for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? Where did she…? Ugh, I…" Catra fumfered, almost screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indeed!" Rollins howled with glee, turning to face the confused crowd with one of her creep shots held high, "And now he's here to fuck us!" </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He's here. He. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra hadn't felt the burn of being misgendered in years. She was a respected military officer who was even fairly open about her transness, people were fine with it. She went to pride, she wore pronoun pins, she took photos with other queers because they saw her as an equal and not a god, it was cool. Yet here she was, after all this adjustment, the centre of a circus of transphobic ridicule. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Open your eyes, people. Your Lord Protector Catra is not a woman. He is a trans-identified male, a fetishistic man. And this," Rollins pointed at Adora, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>pitiful </span>
  </em>
  <span>excuse of a leader happily indulges his perversions. Two mentally ill fools are simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>not fit </span>
  </em>
  <span>to run an institution the size of the EPG. It isn't hate to speak the truth." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra seethed with anger beneath her paralyzed surface. Coming after her dignity was one thing, but coming for Adora's honor like that? Crowface just crossed the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You see? The EPG is a bloated, diseased mess, my friends. A military dictatorship ruled by an arrogant little monarch and her deviant friends, all in the pocket of a ruthless corporate baron who sold weapons to both sides in the last war. While you toil away in the factories, the gas mines, these filthy little wretches spend thousands of taxpayer dollars on degenerate sex parties--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was still completely frozen when she heard Adora shout something very, very unexpected from behind. There came a resonant sound and divine light that shifted the focus away from Crowface's diatribe and over to none other than the legendary First One space marine herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>For the honor of Grayskull!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora cried, almost a cry for war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment, Catra was frozen in fear as Rollins roasted her and exposed her private moments with Adora before the world. The next, She-Ra stood between her and the scorn of this extremist, tall and strong as a fortress. Her armor glistened and shone immaculately, simultaneously dazzling and intimidating. The message was clear. Crowface was going to have to back off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay away from my girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Adora hissed, staring down the now not-so-arrogant journalist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few cheers in the audience. One attendee even screamed ‘kick her ass, She-Ra!’ and Catra found the corners of her mouth raising a little. Unfortunately, much as Catra wished the contrary was the case, there would be no ass-kicking today. Instead, Adora turned that masterful gaze of hers, framed elegantly in her helmet, towards the crowd and asked one simple question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can someone get her the hell out of here?" She demanded to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two Royal Army guards, clad in light dress and forage caps, were up on stage from the sidelines in an instant. They came with their batons and service pistols holstered, and Catra knew they wouldn't resort to force unless absolutely necessary. The Royal Army trained its whiteshields well, and they didn't jump at the slightest sign of civilian confrontation like some Earth-That-Was cop might. She knew they wouldn't have to get punchy for Crowface to make a stink, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ma'am, you need to come with us," one of the soldiers ordered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah," Rollins drawled as the soldiers approached, "Free speech dies with me, then!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, shut up. Come on, guys. We're done here," Adora waved to the other Best Friends Squad members, signaling that it was time to leave, then looked at the press crowd, "There will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>no more </span>
  </em>
  <span>questions today. I want to also make it very clear that anyone who had 'questions' of a similar variety to Miss Rollins' will potentially face harassment and slander charges. Goodbye." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others were headed for the door, and Catra followed. She felt like a zombie, just shuffling forward aimlessly without any feeling in her head but shame. She just wanted to feel good, to take back her body, and it got her in a world of shit. She could feel Adora's hand resting on her shoulder, still much taller in her She-Ra persona, in an effort to comfort her as they departed. Something Crowface shouted just before the Best Friends Squad departed just made her feel even more disturbed, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Glory to the Second Legion! Death to the whore False Princess!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra wasn't sure which part of that was worse, the part where this jagoff called Adora a whore or the part where she used that phrase that had been following Catra everywhere. </span>
  <em>
    <span>False Princess. </span>
  </em>
  <span>On second thought, the former was definitely worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Alright, so the good news first. I just got off the phone with the CEO. She's saying the cameras cut long before Rollins' little episode," Bow explained, pacing around the lounge in Bright Moon Castle as he anxiously clutched his communicator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the bad news?” Catra asked, a hand pressed to her forehead as she slumped on a nearby couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rollins uploaded the photos to the Etherinet through her blog. She also posted some...er, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound recordings </span>
  </em>
  <span>of you two. I didn’t listen, of course. How she even got something like that is beyond me. This lady is one master creeper,” Bow sounded positively distraught. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That bastard must’ve bugged our room while the door was unlocked, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra speculated internally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re gonna need better security next year. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this sucks. Where’s Adora? Is she okay?” Catra asked, figuring her lover had enough on her plate as is without adding this to the mix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s fine, said she just needed some air. I think her and Glimmer were on the phone with some suits trying to see if there’s anything more to be done, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’ve got something that might cheer you up,” Bow fell back on the couch beside Catra, “How much do you know about social media?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know what that is,” Catra was indeed quite out of touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, imagine a space on the Etherinet where people congregate to share thoughts, opinions, and occasionally funny pictures.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way of putting it. Anyway, in the last couple of hours since the news started covering the Rollins incident, one hashtag has been trending--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hash-what now?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! A hashtag. They’re like a way of grouping related information together on social media. Make sense?” Bow tried to articulate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Catra said dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! So as I was saying, #IStandWithCatra is trending on almost every platform right now. It looks like other trans people are using it to share experiences of being harassed by people like Rollins and call that stuff out,” he passed his communicator to Catra, “Look, even Perfuma’s chiming in. I just refreshed the page.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra squinted, trying to make out the message on the tiny screen. The site was called DrylByt; predictably, another one of the conglomerate’s owned properties. The message was indeed written under a tiny photo of the Plumerian agricultural manager, and the words admittedly brought a weak laugh to Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Proving trans people are perverts by taking unsolicited photos and recordings of us having sex in our own private space without our consent because fuck logic. JF Rollins is a superb intellectual, clearly. #IStandWithCatra</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. They got her to say ‘fuck’,” Catra laughed, the sting subsiding for just a minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty cool, right? Public opinion’s on your side. Most citizens and reporters alike are saying how awful that whole thing was. Whatever message Rollins was hoping to send, she dropped the ball </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course there are a few crazies lurking on weird sites agreeing with her, but most people are rooting for you,” Bow took a heavy breath, clearly quite distressed by the situation himself, “Look, we’ll keep monitoring the situation as it comes. I dunno if it’s possible to have Etherinet content taken down for good, even for someone like the CEO. I will say it’s looking more and more like you can sleep easy, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why Sparkles told us it was too dangerous to go home?” Catra asked sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a precaution! We don’t know how much these Second Legion dudes know. But hey, it’s nice to have the band back together, right?” Bow asked, trying to add some levity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Catra said, lacking Bow’s enthusiasm, “I think I need to lie down for a bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem. You remember where your old room is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I hope you feel better. #IStandWithCatra, for what it’s worth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, bro.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went back to her room, still opulent as the day she and Adora left it, and sat in front of the toilet thinking she’d be sick. The sickness never came, however, by some miracle. So she simply lay on the bed and flaked out, trying to make up her mind about what to do now. Every insult that had ever been thrown her way, every single time Shadow Weaver spat </span>
  <em>
    <span>abomination </span>
  </em>
  <span>in her direction, played back in her head. Sure, people were rightfully against the harassment she’d endured, but the pain lingered nonetheless. How was Adora, moreover? Her dignity was violated too, and she was probably stressed enough as is what with the baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kitten? You in there?" A voice called in tandem with a rapport on the door. It was unmistakably Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Catra groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There came the sound of the doorknob rotating, and Adora entered. She'd shed her jacket, the performative facade no longer needed. More bread and circuses. It was a cute jacket, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, what do you know? The armo</span>
  <em>
    <span>r does </span>
  </em>
  <span>come in maternity sizes," Adora joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Try again in a few months, see if it keeps working," Catra added, voice still strained despite the attempted humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two enjoyed a brief respite of laughing before Adora came to rest on the bed beside Catra. It was good to have moments of humor even when the mood was not so humorous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How are you feeling after...that?" Adora asked, though the answer was probably fairly obvious. The Lord Protector was sprawled on the bed like a bearskin rug, uniform disheveled and dabbed with sweat now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I should ask you the same question, babe. What she did to you, those things she said, it was disgusting. We should've split her friggin' head open," Catra said, heat rising in her voice with the memory of earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I know. I wanted to beat her up too. Sounds like she's getting shut down pretty hard, though," Adora rested her hand on Catra's cheek, "Those things she told you were a pack of lies, you know. And if she was trying to get me to regret that night, she failed miserably. It was wonderful in more ways than one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're saying you don't feel ashamed? Of me, of yourself, of any of it? Not even a smidgen?" Catra rolled away from Adora and curled into a ball. She felt her Princess' hand come to her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course not! The sex was amazing enough on its own, but look what we got out of it!" Adora pointed at her belly, knowing full well Catra wasn't looking, "No amount of raving, bigoted weirdos can change that. I can take a beating. I'm hard to knock down. You know that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but beatings like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shadow Weaver tried it. I was still crazy about you, though. Pretty sure some random won't slow me down either."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So that didn't hurt at all?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh no, it was gross, but I'm not letting it get to me," Adora scratched her hand gently between Catra's shoulder blades, "I can have this conversation with you as many times as you need, but it's always gonna be the same. I love you a lot, and you are absolutely a real, valid woman who is both great at sex and the mother of my child. Umm, the other mother that is. Because I'm also the mother of my child. You know how it is. Anyway, no one can change my mind about any of that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sighed. Her legs uncoiled, stretched, and then coiled again. She turned over to face Adora finally. How did she do it? How did she consistently never back down on a goddamn thing, always ready to defend her own honor and Catra’s at a moment’s notice? It must’ve been exhausting, yet she never seemed to falter. She was truly an extraordinary being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, babe. You’re really damn amazing. I hope you know that,” Catra exhaled sharply, “Let’s maybe try to put all this behind us and let the Etherinet continue kicking that nutjob’s ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the Dryl guys sounded pretty optimistic that she’d be dealt with too. I could see if the other two would be fine with us ordering a pizza or something, maybe watching one of those Earth-That-Was films Bow’s so into. I’ll get pineapple, just for you,” Adora suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>pineapple?” Catra asked, skeptical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do dumb stuff for the people we love,” Adora looked down, “Plus, this little weirdo seems to be in the mood for some.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, they take after their mom. This mom, that is,” Catra pointed at herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, gloat some more why don’t you? Anyway, I’m gonna go see about that. Let’s just try to chill and enjoy the rest of the evening, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we tell the other two about the--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby? Eventually, but I think I’ve had enough drama for one day. Telling you was hard enough, I bet those two doofuses have a prepared list of baby names for us somewhere,” Adora joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, that is so like them! Or Bow, at least. Anyway, uh, thanks again, Adora. Love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, kitten. See you in a bit!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost as soon as Adora closed the door, Catra’s communicator pinged. She was half expecting some bullshit death threat from a friend of Crowface. It wasn’t, however. Instead, it was a fairly wordy message from none other than Perfuma. It was a bit of a surprise, but in a way it made sense given everything that was going on. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey sis! Wifey and I heard about what happened on the news. We’re both so sorry and we extend spiritual hugs and good vibes to both you and Adora. Don’t worry, none of us are even gonna think about looking at those private photos. I just wanted to say I’ve been there before. You got this. Me, S, Adora, every single person you’ve inspired to come forward, we’re all right beside you. And I’m still very proud of you, BTW. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Catra smiled, still feeling a bit weak but happy at the show of solidarity. She dropped the communicator to the mattress, figuring she’d leave a response later. Times like these made her thankful for her newfound friends in this world, for Adora, for this whole life that still felt like a bit of a dream; alife that was about to turn a new page between her and Adora, no less. It made her look inwards and feel that maybe the trauma, dysphoria and hate of her past might just be escapable, nevermind those with hate in their hearts. She loved Adora, Adora loved her, and together they were something extraordinary. Fuck whatever people said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time in her life, in the wake of this #IStandWithCatra movement, she wasn’t all that frustrated with being a hero. This time, people weren’t glorifying the soldier: they were instead respecting the woman, the regular person. Even amidst civil chaos, society was perhaps not without its sparks of decency. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just like it says on our flag, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>omnia vincit amor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Murder of the Universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On the distant mining world of Ahriman, a planet of perpetual freezing winters and volcanic fires, the Second Legion's mysterious leader convenes with a familiar face--or rather a collection of faces--to tell the tale of Horde Prime's ace in the hole. Legend has it, it may be on this very planet...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 8: Murder of the Universe<br/>Far beyond the EPG's crown jewel of Etheria, beyond the handful of civilized colonies and the extravagant Dryl satellites and the healing wounds of the last war, there was a small, young colony. It was a death world where terraforming had been slow, equal parts lifeless tundras and volcanic hellscapes. It shared its name with a dark Zoroastrian deity, one of the most ancient in recorded history. Far beneath the planet's surface, low ranking and low paid workers in obsidian suits mined rare gasses and geothermal energy for the Etherians to consume. This was essentially all anyone ever did on this nightmare world, this perfect storm of the worst biomes in the 'verse. Anyone, that is, except Thaddeus Typhon.<br/>Thaddeus Typhon is not a laborer, though he is hard at work. While his base has the veneer of a gas refinery, it is not refining anything. They are digging for something, but it isn't geothermal energy. His followers dig, they do combat drills, they listen to him speak his truth. His word is all that remains of his beliefs, his people, his holy war. That, and what lies beneath this fortress.<br/>Typhon stands alone in the darkness of his private quarters, the window shutters set to their lowest setting as he looks out at the ashen wastes and black sands of Ahriman's south. His silver hair is ostensibly combed back in a neat coif and his uniform, a relic of his holy war, is worn with pride and perfection. The armband on his leather greatcoat no longer bears his previous army's banners, but the modified version of its successor. Everything is falling into place, right down to the aesthetics.<br/>"Bring them in," he orders into his earpiece.<br/>The door opens, and in walks a woman, or the shell of one at any rate. JF Rollins, Typhon's brilliant little weapon of psychological warfare. Getting the facts about that accursed little concubine that the False Princess dragged around was easy, in fact much of it was public domain. What Typhon needed was someone planetside who would wake people up to the degeneracy she embodied instead of normalizing that delusion. Rollins' work on the Etherinet had a cult following, and Typhon paid her handsomely to keep tabs on the Lord Protector. When there came a time when Rollins wouldn't cross a line that Typhon simply needed crossed for his plan to work, and so he dealt with it accordingly. He had her killed in a bombing and replaced by someone with less scruples. They were a thespian and gunslinger from the frontier, a soldier of fortune who took the role and research on the second they saw the money.<br/>"Hey, boss. Sorry about the wait. Not sure if you've ever broken out of an EPG prison, but it is not as fun as it sounds. And that's not even getting into how hard it is to find a smuggling vessel bound for this wasteland. Had to run with some drug dealers. They didn't let me sample the goods, unfortunately," 'Rollins' explains, taking a seat on one of the black ottomans across the room.<br/>"That's alright, comrade. Enough about your trip, though. To business. Might I ask why you're still wearing her skin?" Typhon asks, sitting at his desk and steepling his gloved hands.<br/>"Oh my goodness, how could I miss that? Forgive me," 'Rollins' looks themselves over, confused and flustered.<br/>The Rollins persona melted away suddenly, the gaudy face and expensive clothing disintegrating in a nebula of green-black haze. In her place stood the gunslinger in all their roguish glory. Their lithe reptilian form was clad in a borrowed Second Legion corporal's feldgrau uniform, adorned with collar pins displaying the red, white and black neo-Horde logo. The webbing stored a communicator and 9mm pistol, as well as a near-empty flask and some purple lipstick. Their blonde mane recalled Ziggy Stardust in a spitting image. In a word, they definitely stood out from the roughneck laborers and traitors that made up the bulk of the Second Legion militia.<br/>"Ah, that's better. Comrade…" Typhon checks the dossier strewn across his desk, "Double...Trouble, was it? Rubbish name, if I do say so myself."<br/>"You're not paying to roast me, darling. You're paying me to do the roasting on your behalf, remember? And we're not roasting me, we're roasting my old pal the Lord Protector," Double Trouble sneers.<br/>"True enough. That vile abomination, the former Force Captain and my old rival at the Tannhauser Gate. Catra. How did it go, bounty hunter?" Typhon asks.<br/>"Well, I'll admit the whole 'transphobic wackadoodle' character was a bit uncomfortable, but isn't all art built on the backs of the artist's discomfort?"<br/>"Very true. Now get on with it. The mission."<br/>"Ah, yes, yes. So, you wanted me to expose her--bit uncomfortable that, but twenty creds is twenty creds as I always say--and I did just that. When I was undercover as a bartender at their favourite haunt and heard ol' cash kitten drunkenly belt out a Prince classic for Adora, I thought to myself instantly 'hmm, something's weird here'. Then it hit me! Oh damn, these bitches boned to that song! Well, maybe not quite that, but I knew it certainly got them in...a mood, shall we say.<br/>"When the day came for the VE Day party, I took that high-tech camera you dropped me and snuck into the ball disguised as a Royal Army soldier. Did you know Catra's full name is Catra Applesauce Meowmeow? Anyway, once I heard 'Purple Rain' and watched Etheria's favorite couple take the floor, I knew something was gonna go down. I found their room's window, got my camera and went to work as Rollins. I also bugged their room while I was at the party for a little extra creeping.<br/>"After that, it was only a matter of making a scene. Your last two attacks all but guaranteed some sort of public appearance, so I made my way into that--wasn't hard with Rollins' credentials, even if she was a tabloid journalist--and got as loud as I could with those creepshots. Take it from me, I've seen transphobia in its natural habitat. I can play the part flawlessly, darling."<br/>"I'm sure. Did it work?"<br/>"Did what work?"<br/>"What do you think, bounty hunter? Have we sufficiently exposed the societal ills of the EPG, the cancer that grows among the galaxy?"<br/>"Oh. Uh, no, I'm afraid not. I think I may have leaned a little too much on the crazy lady angle, and it's really bit us in the ass. People are posting all over social media about their experiences with transphobia, calling it #IStandWithCatra. Under different circumstances, I'd be quite happy about such a thing, but I'm not being paid for that. We've gained a few allies, but the dialogue is mostly against us--"<br/>Typhon isn't too happy about this. He slams his fists into his desk, screaming expletives over and over again. The room devolves into a cacophony of metal bangs punctuated with utterances of 'fuck' and 'shit'. The site doesn't phase Double Trouble. If their time with the Horde's previous incarnation taught them anything, it's that the organization is full of dramatic bitches.<br/>"Thaddeus, yoohoo? Deep breaths, honey. The plan?" Double Trouble asks.<br/>"Right! Excuse me!" Typhon clears his throat, "It seems the world has changed a lot since my exile. All the more reason for us to fight on even harder, I say! This pitiful Etherinet squabble matters not. Every bit helps, and if we gain recruits from this it'll be all that counts. A few more days, a few more attacks, and we'll have the war we want soon enough."<br/>"Ooh, very nice! Characters to play, people to kill...just like the good ol' days. So what's your plan?" Double Trouble asks. The sun is coming up over the ash wastes outside, reflecting off the black sand in a rare moment of beauty.<br/>"I'm frankly unsure if I trust you enough to reveal my full hand, bounty hunter, but I suppose if we are to work together you may know of a few details. For starters, my men have already infiltrated or seized multiple strong points across the planet. In a few hours, they will storm the planetary governor's residence and bring her to me. Ahriman's secession will be sealed by then, and as a result all of the EPG will cry for war. I will make sure of that," Typhon explains.<br/>"And you really think your cabal of grumpy miners and ex-Horde grunts can handle the whole Royal Army? I can maybe hook you up with a few PMCs, but that's still peanuts compared to the Etherian war machine,” Double Trouble warns. Indeed, the idea of a group of insurgent miners staging a full-scale revolt against a planet-spanning fighting force seems silly to them.<br/>“Ah, which is precisely the thing, bounty hunter. The people want a war. I am impartial. The war will keep the people satisfied, giving my men the spectacle of triumphing over tyranny, but in truth it is mere prologue. Tell me, in your time with the Horde did anyone mention Project Han-Tyumi?” Typhon asks.<br/>As the last letters of Han-Tyumi leave his lips, Typhon suddenly feels overcome with an odd pain and a sense of not being fully there. His eyes begin to twitch and he sees memories of a life that is simultaneously his and not his. Memories of green pools on board a cathedral-like structure floating in the abyss somewhere, cyclopean chanting in an ancient tongue. He sees the Lord Protector as she once was, back when she was Force Captain Catra. She falls into the Horde biomass, screaming out for the False Princess. The memories blur into his, and he isn’t sure where or when he is; it’s enough to make him double over and scream out.<br/>“Are you--” Double Trouble starts, but Typhon raises a gloved hand with as much strength as his withered form will allow.<br/>“I do not pay you for your sympathy, bounty hunter,” Typhon retches in a voice he can’t say for sure is his, “Anyway, have you heard of it?”<br/>“Only whispers, pal. Some sort of superweapon, a last resort to end the war. Probably just an old wives’ tale, far as I know,” Double Trouble explains.<br/>“Oh, my friend! A wives’ tale it is not! Nor was it a last resort, no. It was Horde Prime’s endgame,” Typhon’s voice crackles with excitement, “And it is right here under our very noses!”<br/>“Ooh, very nice. Do go on.”<br/>Typhon slams a stack of papers on the desk. Old photographs, schematics, manuscripts written in a tongue Double Trouble does not recognize. They hear the Second Legion despot’s breath begin to quicken and watch as his eyes grow to an owl-like proportion.<br/>“So what is it?” Double Trouble asks, looking at the schematics and thinking it looks like any old bomb, “Some kind of atomic?”<br/>“Bigger than atomics! While those are not without their usefulness--take it from me--Han-Tyumi is so much more than a tool of destruction. It is a tool of reconstruction. Imagine a device that can be detonated in a planet’s atmosphere and convert the whole populace into raw Horde genetic material. A sea of Prime’s light, engulfing everyone it touches. A weapon to surpass even Prime himself,” Typhon pauses to take a breath, feeling more memories that may or may not be his rush before his eyes, “Can you grasp the splendor of it?”<br/>“So that’s your plan? Turn the whole galaxy into...slime?” Double Trouble asks.<br/>“Oh, no no. Not at first. The war will prove an ample distraction while I excavate the weapon and engineer copies. More people will inevitably flock to our cause as more industrial worlds become fed up with the EPG’s decadence, and we will drag the war on through as much attrition as we need until I can unveil my arsenal. From there, it’s simple. We string them along for as long as possible, milk them for every credit, and then one-by-one we launch the weapons. The galaxy will be bathed in light, and I will rule over this new empire.”<br/>“Sounds confusing.”<br/>“No, it’s not confusing, it’s detente. The threat of mutually-assured destruction lingered on for so many years on 20th century Earth-That-Was that by the end of it, people were flocking to any ideologue who was explosive enough to disrupt the status quo. It is not enough to convert the planets. They have to want it, beg for it, first. That is what I intend to do. And Han-Tyumi, this glorious Shangri-La trapped within a warhead, is the key. It is buried under this base, and in a few months’ time it will be extracted.”<br/>It’s at this point that the shapeshifting gunslinger begins to think that their boss has officially gone too far. They feel slight pangs of regret for letting their greed get the better of them, for helping abate this ridiculous, nihilistic plot and humiliating an old friend in the process. They sold out, and they’d barely made the big time. They’d marched with Catra at Pride from a distance, and now they’d very publicly besmirched their trans sibling’s honor for a fistful of credits. Dirty credits, taken from the pocket of a diabolical doomsday prophet who wanted to turn civilization into a bunch of living vomit. They felt their hands reflexively inch for their gun, already plotting possible escape routes.<br/>“That’s enough for now, I think. Apologies. I got excited. Will you have wine with me, bounty hunter? I’m told I have excellent taste in vintages, and I have a fine selection,” Typhon offers, stifling himself for a moment and walking to a rack of bottles sitting diagonally from his desk.<br/>“Yes, I’ll bet you do,” Double Trouble’s fingers curl around the grip of their 9mm. They’re not just a pretty face, they’re also a quick draw; they pull the pistol from its holster and let off a round in Typhon’s back.<br/>Or at least, that’s what should have happened.<br/>Typhon twitches, moving faster than any living thing should be able to move. The light around him shimmers and ripples like a mirage for a moment, then crackles with electricity. His outstretched hand, mysteriously ungloved and looking positively skeletal, drops a flat metal object on the floor; he’s caught the bullet somehow. That’s when he turns to face Double Trouble again, and the gunslinger sees Typhon’s true form for the first time. The one beneath his cloaking device; it had to be a cloaking device, what with the ripples it left as it shut off. The rotting flesh, the rusted cybernetics, the cauliflowered and vaguely pointed ears. The distinctive three green eyes on one side of his face.<br/>“What the fuck are you?” Double Trouble screams, dropping their sidearm in total fear.<br/>Typhon simply laughs, a dry and metallic noise that sounds not unlike a failing engine. Then he speaks again in a voice that is most certainly not his, something awful and eldritch spewing forth from a sepulchre somewhere. A voice that many veterans of the previous war still awoke to in the night, screaming and drenched in sweat at the realization of cosmic horror that he once was. That he was once again, though perhaps not quite yet.<br/>“Have you forgotten us so quickly?” the thing wearing Thaddeus Typhon’s skin cackles, “Such a shame. Are you ready to venture into the light, little sibling?”<br/>For a moment amidst the roars and moans of industrial toil, the bounty hunter’s screams join in with the sound. No one, however, is paying close enough attention to notice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi friends! I just wanted to say a bit of stuff about Thaddeus Typhon, who I believe is the first major original character introduced in this story. Many of you might be kind of confused about who he is, or even what he is. Typhon was once an elite Horde commander, now dedicated to rebuilding Horde Prime's work from beyond the grave. He is not a Horde clone. If we were to look at the main cast of the Metal Gear Solid games to be a bit of a visual metaphor, Solid Snake is a clone of Big Boss whereas Venom Snake is a surgically-created body double made of an unnamed, brainwashed soldier. So basically Horde Prime is to Big Boss what Typhon is to Venom Snake, and beyond that I won't spoil anything else. Also, Typhon is played (both voice and likeness-wise) by Jeremy Irons.</p><p>Bit of a lighter side note, but if anyone wants to draw me fanart of the Purple Rain album art but with Catra recreating it I think that'd be fucking rad. </p><p>Until next time, </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Para Bellum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the Second Legion continues its campaign of terror, a meeting is convened between the EPG's chiefs of staff and drastic measures are undertaken. War is officially declared, and the winter planet Ahriman is to become a battleground between EPG doughboys and Second Legion militiamen. As Catra fears for what lies ahead and whether she will ever see Adora again, a familiar scientist arrives to lend a bit of aid to the war effort.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 9: Para Bellum </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shuttle ride over to Bright Moon was quiet, lonely, and altogether stress-provoking. When Catra got the call from Glimmer that morning that an emergency meeting was being called between the EPG’s leadership, she feared the worst. The Queen wouldn’t even divulge a single detail, which didn’t exactly make matters any better. Nonetheless, the Lord Protector donned her uniform and set off on yet another one of the Queen’s VTOLs for the capitol, not knowing what she would find there. At least this time, there was likely a good 90% chance it wouldn’t involve publicizing photos of her and Adora fucking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was not in her usual spot on the shuttle. Her morning sickness had gotten really bad lately, and she’d started the day puking breakfast back up. Less than an hour after she’d gotten out of bed, she was back in it. Catra insisted they tell Glimmer what was really going on, but Adora was certain now wasn’t the time. Instead, she left it in Catra’s hands to spin a yarn about why the Princess couldn’t attend this conference. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just make something up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora had said, head half under the covers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sure they’ll fall for one of your world-famous ruses. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t realize my ruses were world-famous, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra had replied from Adora's bedside. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, maybe not world-famous, but famous in this house at least. Remember when you baked that cake with gardening tools and convinced me it was plant food, when really you were just bored? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That and I didnt want to share, yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two laughed pretty hard at that memory. If the world hadn't been going to shit and Adora wasn't getting so sick, both the moment and the general happenstance in their lives would have been perfect. Catra and Adora lived together in a home they'd crafted together, their child was a handful of months away from being welcomed into the world, and their love for each other had only grown stronger these past three years. Things were coming apart again, though. They always had to come apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just tell them I got sick, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adora had said next, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that I had a bad hamburger or something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra agreed, though only on the condition that she got to also say that Adora was the one who grilled it. Adora was a bit frustrated with that--the grill was perhaps her sole culinary outlet in a household smothered by Catra's wanton cooking hobby--but she agreed nonetheless. So now Catra was on a VTOL to the capitol, fully prepared to tell a room full of politicians and generals that Adora just hadn't shown up to a pivotal meeting over a burger. That was her ruse. At this point, it may have been less effort to just come clean about the baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shuttle touched down in short order, robbing Catra of her musings on the morning and Adora. The pilot moved to slide the heavy door open, letting it climb upwards with a pneumatic sigh. The rooftop landing pad--one of many--was chilly and covered in a thick veneer of rainwater as it tumbled out of the melancholy sky in sheets. Miraculously, Catra managed to make it across the landing pad and into the castle without getting soaked. Once she got inside, it was just a matter of heading to the war room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator ride was surprisingly not very cramped. This meeting must've really been for essential personnel only, because the castle was usually full of attendants, bureaucrats, foot sloggers. Either she was really early, or whatever was about to go down was classified to the extreme. This just got more and more interesting, and by interesting Catra meant objectively terrifying. The elevator soon dinged, and Catra stepped out onto the thirteenth floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the people Catra expected to run into in the hall on the way to the war room, the King was not one of them. Micah had all but literally abdicated, his role being mostly a formality and his rationale being that it was time for a younger generation to hold more political power. The ideas, the policy, the overall nation simply stayed fresh that way. He looked to be in good health for a man who had endured a close call with a sniper not long ago, back on his feet and seemingly doing fine. His purple-and-gold officer’s uniform--identical to his daughter’s save for some additional medals--and peaked hat made him look a bit like 20th century Earth-That-Was nobility. He gave a polite nod to the Lord Protector and shook her hand as she headed towards the war room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not late, are we?” Catra asked the King. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps ‘fashionably late’ would be the right word, Lord Protector. The rest of the attendees are almost accounted for, but as far as I know Glimmer hasn’t officially convened anything yet. Are you alright, by the way? Heard you had an incident with a heckler. Where’s Adora?” Micah pondered, adjusting the black braid of hair beneath his hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had an incident with a sniper bullet. Maybe I should ask you the same thing,” Catra laughed, letting the gallows humor sink in, “And Adora’s fine, just not feeling well. Undercooked some meat, gave herself food poisoning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess we’re both well enough to show up. That’s what counts,” Micah put a white-gloved hand on the door handle, then sighed with reluctance, “I don’t like this, Catra. Something’s about to go down. I can feel it. I may not be quite the mage I used to be, and prescience isn’t a talent I’ve used in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ludicrously </span>
  </em>
  <span>long time, but you don’t have to have premonitions to know this is serious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that was obvious when these Second Legion bandits decided to try and dust you,” Catra suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Troubled times we live in. I fear this problem may be much bigger than mere bandits,” Micah gave Catra a pat on the shoulder with his free hand, “May the hand of the First Ones be with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May the hand of the First Ones be with us all,” Catra said with a solemn nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Micah threw the doors open with a dramatic flair that was about as ominous as it was unnecessary. The mood in the war room wasn’t particularly ominous, but the current conversation within was both dramatic and unnecessary. Perhaps in that way Micah got more things right in his entry than was immediately apparent. General Sea Hawk was at the centre of the madness, because of course he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that all of us are together in one place, can I make a suggestion? It will doubtlessly be in the best service of defending the EPG, of course!” The Royal Marines’ commander, decked out in an aggressively ironed and polished olive drab uniform riddled with medals both real and fabricated, interjected from his end of the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Sea Hawk! For the last time, we are not listening to your ideas because your ideas are notoriously terrible!” Fleet Admiral Mermista, wearing the white and blue of the Royal Navy, vitriolically replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you say that, but this is a winner! Just hear me out!” the General paused, doubtlessly trying to be dramatic, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Flamethrowers! </span>
  </em>
  <span>We need to talk about motherfucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>flamethrowers! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You guys know how I used to light my boats on fire and then run them into stuff? Well, flamethrowers just cut out the middle man! We can set things on fire </span>
  <em>
    <span>without </span>
  </em>
  <span>burning our own boats! I’m talking flamethrowers on tanks, flamethrowers on the infantry, flamethrowers on planes, flamethrowers on our starfleet--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious? You can’t put a flamethrower on a spacecraft! It won’t work!” the Fleet Admiral exclaimed, her face in her palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mermista. Admit it, you find my cunning strategy and mastery of experimental warfare </span>
  <em>
    <span>alluring</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, is that what you tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kevin</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>mad about Kevin? </span>
  <em>
    <span>We were on a break, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mermista! Also, Kevin is a really great guy once you get to know him and--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors suddenly slam open, a shotgun exclamation point that puts an end to the lover's quarrel--if you could call it that, seeing as how the Fleet Admiral and the General seemed to be about as stable in their relationship as a house of cards--between Sea Hawk and Mermista. Bow and Glimmer stood in the doorway, and the Queen looked substantially more like she had a chip on her shoulder than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>All of you shut up!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Glimmer shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room went deathly silent. Everyone's eyes turn to the Queen, and just judging by her initial assessment Catra could tell this was not going to end pretty. Glimmer was far more stressed than usual, that much was obvious. Regardless of the outcome of this Second Legion situation, it was apparent that it was going to get worse before it got better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, guys...I was gonna bring us bagels, but the castle chefs were out. Kinda would've been helpful to know you folks were coming first, but since this was a last minute emergency meeting and all--" Bow started, but got cut off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bow, sweetie, I love you, but now is not the time to be worrying about some stupid bagels!" Glimmer's shouting seemed to be a permanent fixture today, "Anyway, I've gathered you all here today because things have very quickly gotten out of hand and I need all hands on deck." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, so why are Scorpia and Perfuma here?" Catra asked, "Something happen at Station 17?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thankfully, no. Or not yet, anyway," Glimmer took her seat at the far end of the war table, a regal thing emblazoned with the EPG pegasus insignia, "Perfuma is the Minister of Agriculture and will be needed with regards to rationing and supplying troops. Scorpia is a Major General in the Royal Army, and I might need her on the ground to coordinate with you. This was all covered in Royal Military Command orientation, you know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wildcat isn't so good with those, Your Highness," Scorpia explained, looking over at Catra knowingly. Catra snorted and rolled her eyes, reciprocating the knowing glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Got it, Sparkles. And what's up with this sassy lost child?" Catra pointed at Frosta across the table, wearing a thicker, insulated version of a Royal Army officer coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm 17 and a half, you chode," Frosta snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, as I was saying," Catra started, "What's with this sassy lost child?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Minister of Colonial and Hazardous Operations will probably be helpful, considering where we're all going," Glimmer explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frosta flipped Catra the bird, the ice princess' face pinched in a sneer. Catra just snorted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway, that brings me to our next point…" Glimmer said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra knew something bad was coming. The conflict in the EPG was starting to escalate, and something truly horrible was in the pipeline. Everything about this meeting pointed towards something horrible. Something like…no. That was unthinkable. But with rations and hazard management being needed, perhaps that could be the only option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's not mince words. Let's not beat around the bush. Let's just cut the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>We are at war with the Second Legion," Glimmer quieted down for the first time that meeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, there it was. Catra couldn't say she didn't see it coming. At least it was official now. The only question left was what provoked this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>was there to be a war with these Second Legion psychos? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Big deal. They're what, bandits? We could probably drop a well-placed atomic on them and send them packing. Never know what hit 'em, right? Worked during the reformations," Mermista suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not--no. It's not like the reformations. This is different. Let me just show you guys what I mean," Glimmer's yelling returned as she pounded a button on the war room's table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table doubled as a holographic projector, intended primarily for the display of various battle plans. This time, however, the projector instead played video footage. The face of a wizened, leathery man with combed back white hair appeared on the screen. A banner seemed to be unfurling behind him, and he was clad in a dark leather coat with distinct collar pins. That's when Catra realized she knew this face, and that it was a face that shouldn't exist at this point in time. Not since Tannhauser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is a message for the leadership of the EPG," the man starts, "In a number of hours, the planet of Ahriman will be fully liberated. Congratulations, Princess Adora. Only they will not be cheering because of you, they will be cheering because of me. See, we all see through your lies. How you preach about making the galaxy safe for democracy while relying on obscene taxes and slave labour. We all know about your proclivities, too, as anyone with an Etherinet connection will tell you; your transsexual concubine can hide behind social media activism all she wants, we know exactly what's really going on in your bedroom." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surface behind this familiar phantom flickered, almost like something was being projected on it. Catra couldn't actually see the image at this resolution, but she knew exactly what it was all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The EPG and the degenerates within are a disease. Horde Prime had the cure, and I will continue to build on his legacy as if he never left me. Your worlds will burn, and we will rule the remains with true freedom finally at our fingertips. For years we mined your gas, fought your unjust wars, worked in your factories. Well, no more! Today Ahriman, tomorrow the galaxy!" The phantom raised a hand, flat with palm down, upwards, "Death to the False Princess! Long live the Second Legion! Prime's light will shine everlasting!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clip devolved into a vague, staticky roar of what was presumably cheers before the man walked off screen and disappeared. Around then, Glimmer turned the video off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This was broadcast live earlier this morning on every telescreen in the 'verse. I...omitted the part at the end where they had the planetary governor strung up and hanged, for your collective sanity. They're not bandits, they're an organized syndicate of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horde loyalists. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That guy in the video, he's been building an army of loyalists, uniting them under one banner, and their ranks are growing. Nemesis and Alpharius are both reporting their own rebellions perpetrated by self-proclaimed Second Legion revolutionaries, although they’ve done a much better job at containing them,” Glimmer explained, letting the projector transition to a map of the EPG’s colonized worlds that marked which planets had endured Second Legion attacks. Ahriman, Nemesis, Alpharius and Etheria itself were all marked, sure enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we not going to talk about the fact that that was Thaddeus Typhon in the video?” Catra interjected, feeling the venom rise in her voice at the very utterance of that name. Her old rival, that vicious war criminal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I was just getting to that. Why don’t you explain, Lord Protector? You were at the Tannhauser Gate, after all,” Glimmer suggested. The mention of Tannhauser sent chills through the room, with each of the commanders looking visibly shocked and haunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. He’s ex-Horde, probably the most famous soldier the regime ever harboured. What Hordak had on Typhon in seniority, Typhon made up for in blind fanaticism. His willingness to do whatever it took to claim a victory earned him the nickname ‘Martyr’, on account of both his own suicidality and disregard for troop lives. Yes, he was at Tannhauser. He was responsible for that mess. Hounded us for years during the reformations until we finally killed him. Well, allegedly, anyway,” Catra explained. Remembering Tannhauser almost made her cry, that one unpleasant truth of the reformations that everyone generally agreed needed to stay buried for the good of the EPG. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d he die?” Sea Hawk asked, weirdly serious and out of character. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Plumerian sniper supposedly blew his brains out somewhere in the ruins that later became Station 17. It wasn’t some cool revenge move, if you’re wondering. At that point he was supposedly dying from some sort of cancer because of...well, because of Tannhauser. Needed suspensor cybernetics to walk, hair was falling out, had tumorous growths all along his ears and face. Yet here he is, alive and looking just the same as that day he collectively screwed us out of a 25th Station. This is…” Catra sighed, “...It’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How was Thaddeus Typhon still alive? Catra saw the photos, the mission reports. Scorpia had them on Catra’s desk practically within the same hour the shot was fired. The Horde Colonel </span>
  <em>
    <span>ate </span>
  </em>
  <span>a full metal jacket cartridge at a velocity that would’ve likely made his skull explode, and even then the guy had been exposed to enough radiation to turn anyone’s bones into toxic sludge by then. How was he still alive after all this time? It made Catra feel as if part of her work with the Royal Army--maybe all of it--had been for nothing. That didn’t even get to what he’d done to Adora, the way he’d centred his hatred around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re all in the same boat, Catra. We have a plan, though, so bear with me. It might make things feel a little less...fucked, for lack of a better term. Let’s check it out,” Glimmer said, clearly trying her best to be comforting while still shouting every syllable at the top of her lungs, as she hit another key on the projector that zoomed in on Ahriman, “I’m sure you’ve all heard of Ahriman by now. Place might as well be the gas mining capital of the whole universe. Terraforming got there late and Dryl mostly abandoned the project, so it’s kind of just a rock covered in snow storms and volcanoes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it’s a shithole, basically,” Mermista snarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes. I would say that’s accurate. That said, it’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>economically important </span>
  </em>
  <span>shithole. I’m not sure if this was on Typhon’s mind when he centred Ahriman in his revolt, but if we lose Ahriman we lose a lot of resources. Dryl is also gonna lose a lot of profits, and then nobody’s happy. It’s pretty obvious what we have to do. We have to get this cocksucker and his gang of skinheads off our planet,” Glimmer explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course that was the main concern. Always Dryl this and Dryl that, kowtowing to the corporate overlords. The Horde was back, and Glimmer was worried about money. Catra was willing to do what had to be done to keep the Horde away, but to fight a war to line that purple-haired Elon Musk wannabe’s pockets? Catra’s girlfriend was pregnant and she was gearing up to quit the dog of war business; dragging her back in over something like that made her blood boil, even if she did want to see Typhon wiped off the map for good. If it weren’t for the fact that that sick fuck was involved, Catra would’ve just suggested using Mermista’s atomics plan and being done with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t give a fuck about your war, or your corporation,” Catra spat out indignantly, suddenly frustrated the more she thought of Adora and leaving her behind. Her, and the newcomer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for that, Lord Protector…” Glimmer rolled her eyes, “...The good news is, if everything goes according to plan you likely won’t have to. If we tried a garden-variety military campaign, I’d say we’d be looking at anywhere from months to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>of fighting, but once we get She-Ra’s boots on the ground we’ll be out in a month. Two tops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra knew that couldn’t happen. Trying to ruse her way out of this one was going to be tough. The only thing that felt tougher was the thought that she’d be spending years in a filthy foxhole, missing the life of her baby and the experiences Adora and her would have with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, where is Adora, anyway?” Bow asked from Glimmer’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Protector was in a corner. She had to come clean. No amount of bad hamburgers could explain away She-Ra’s absence from an entire military campaign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora won’t be joining us today. As a matter of fact, she won’t be joining your little crusade, either,” Catra said, anticipating what she’d have to say next. She didn’t have a damn choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she okay? Did something happen? It’s not like her to walk away from a fight, especially one like this,” Glimmer started, “Was there an assassination attempt or something? Catra, please, you have to tell us. You’re making us worry, not to mention risking lives and wasting valuable time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She can’t come…” Catra started, the truth choking her throat. She clawed into the table, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adora, forgive me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>we have a kid on the way!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra exclaimed, “We’re having a kid, and I won’t let you hurt either of them! Especially not for blood money!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was cloaked in silence. Everyone sat with their mouths agape, utterly dumbfounded at this newfound revelation. It almost reminded Catra of the night she found out. A few attendees had the faintest trace of a smile on their face. Perfuma and Scorpia looked like they were positively beaming, though there was visible concern on their face. Rightly so, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, uh, good. Good for you. Yes, congratulations are in order," Glimmer put her head in both her palms, still taken aback, "I'm sorry this is coming up under these circumstances."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, if you can't send her, you're gonna send me, right?" Catra asked, voice still heated with frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was my plan," Glimmer said, collecting her bearings, "How'd this happen? Was this planned?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"None of your fucking business, Sparkles." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just curious, as your friend--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, it wasn't planned, alright? We broke a condom or some shit. Me and my stupid claws..." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, aren't Catra and Adora both girls? So who was wearing the--" Micah, being the well meaning but clueless older fellow he was, asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dad, Catra's transgender," Glimmer explained gently, ironically almost like she was talking to a baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, so?" Micah asked, still clueless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well…" Glimmer took a deep breath and put her palms together, looking very done with this, "From what I understand, she still has her...her...</span>
  <em>
    <span>y'know…</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't you finish that fucking sentence, you purple bastard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Her </span>
  <em>
    <span>dick!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Frosta exclaimed, pounding the table and then looking around at the visibly uncomfortable and disproving others, "What? Admit it, you were thinking it. You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinking it!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god kid, shut up! You're like twelve, it's none of--ugh!" Catra found herself slamming her own hands on the table, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, massive crowd of acquaintances and colleagues, I got a penis! And </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the other associated plumbing! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you </span>
  </em>
  <span>for bringing this up as if it's at all appropriate, now can we please shut up and get back on topic here!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, guys, come on. Really not excellent. Or your business, for that matter," Perfuma said indignantly, then winked at Catra. Catra shot Perfuma a brief, appreciative smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks for that, Lebowski. Does anyone have anything to add that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>about my junk? Anyone? Anyone at all? Come on now, don't be shy," Catra asked, clearly annoyed and done with this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow gingerly raised his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, sir?" Catra pointed to Bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"H-have you two been thinking about...baby names?" He asked, giddy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We haven't known for very long, so no." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"D-do you wanna see my list of ideas?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When we have a minute, sure." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Best day ever! Uh, other than the whole war thing...so tragic…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Guys, this is cute and all, but let's get back on track here," Glimmer cleared her throat, "Sooner we can wrap up, the better. Anyway, without She-Ra we're looking at a longer campaign, but I'm sure you're all going to do your jobs swimmingly. After all, we survived an all-out war against the real Horde. Some bootleg version should be doable. I'm giving you all a week to say your goodbyes, rally your troops. Think that should cover it for today. Dismissed." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting dispersed, with the various commanders all heading their separate ways. One week, and then they were shipping off. Catra had to get home, get herself together, and tell Adora what was happening; maybe--</span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span>--do some crying. They didn't have a ton of time left before things somehow came apart again, as if this was just the way things were. She headed for the door, looking at the ground, when someone collided with her like a freight train and hugged her. Catra really just wanted to try out of here and leave all this talk of the war, the baby and the resurrected Typhon behind her for a while, but evidently Perfuma had other ideas. Catra turned around to see her trans sibling, wearing a green suit with floral etchings across it, standing there with her wife in tow and the biggest smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I--I have no words. I'm so happy for you and Adora. Congratulations! I can't believe Blossom is going to get a new friend!" Perfuma could barely contain her excitement, looking almost like she was tearing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, with tiny cat ears!" Scorpia added, just as enthused, "Uh, are they gonna have tiny cat ears?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They most likely will have tiny cat ears," Catra said, taking a minute to smile at a cute thought like that. She didn't actually know how any of that would manifest given her lacking knowledge on her roots, but one could only hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes!" Scorpia did a little fist pump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, we know a lot must be going through your head right now. I bet you're not sure which one's scarier between the war and parenthood. Just try to stay safe out there, and when you get home, well...I don't know if there's any one right description of parenthood, but from my experience it'll be an adventure and a hot mess all at once, but you'll be thankful it happened," Perfuma smiled and then made a face like she was holding in a laugh, "Also, is no one on this planet capable of making decent condoms or something? How'd this happen to the both of us, eh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably Dryl's fault, considering they make everything these days. Including the wars, apparently," Catra said mockingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, true! Well, good luck out there. We’re all rooting for you, Catra,” Perfuma smiled warmly, almost enough to get Catra to forget the impending war. Things felt almost normal for a few seconds, the two of them making jokes over shared experiences. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you on Ahriman, bro. Take care of yourself, keep it classy,” Scorpia said as her and her wife headed out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra waved goodbye to her friends, then headed in the direction of the door herself. She just wanted to get home and see Adora before the madness started, before the guns started firing again. And then a familiar, mild annoyance-ridden voice called out from behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Catra, a word?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, Sparkles. Just let me get outta here, wrap my head around this,” Catra sighed, somewhere between exhaustion and anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. Just hear me out, okay? Sit down, I’ll have a servant bring us a drink. Make it fun, y’know?” Glimmer steepled her hands on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra let out a low, exasperated groan. She really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>did just want to leg it back to Station 9. She would get home, hold Adora, maybe fantasize a bit about the future and what kind of kid this little new life was going to be, and overall just act like everything was normal for a bit. Not normal, she supposed, but this new normal anyway. The normal that existed in this odd little gap between chapters in their relationship, one that was cause for enough alarm without a creeping proxy battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess it couldn’t hurt…” Catra muttered reluctantly, sitting across from Glimmer at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Atta girl. Bourbon, right?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tempt me,” Catra chuckled, rubbing her face with her wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just coffee, then? Adora’s always saying you like...I wanna say dark roast with almond? It was a while ago,” Glimmer offered, a hand going to her chin as she tried to recollect what Catra’s coffee order was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll do,” Catra said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer hit a key on the table, spoke their order out loud to whatever servant was on the other end, and five minutes later the same servant was bringing them coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Catra broke the silence, “You really gonna send me over there, even with Adora pregnant?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Glimmer started, sipping her highfalutin, fancy latte thingy, “It’s not an easy choice to make, but we need you out there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You have plenty of talented soldiers. I could understand needing She-Ra, but me? Sure, I’m great, but I’m just another gal with a gun when you get down to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still a legend in the eyes of our doughboys. You can give them hope.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m just some old killer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding?” Glimmer sounded almost like she was pleading, “You burnt the Horde to the ground with Adora at your side. You built this nation from functionally nothing, leading our soldiers through bandit and Horde loyalist territory. You’re an honest leader who still routinely visits the troops. You’ve got character. You’re someone they can depend on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess…” Catra sighed, “Thought I said goodbye to all of this when Adora and I moved to Station 9. Jesus.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s more is that you’re one of the few people who fought Typhon and lived. People call you the ‘Ghost of Tannhauser’ for a reason, you know. They’ll trust you to take him down, and given that he might have the planetary governor’s launch codes, I frankly </span>
  <em>
    <span>implore </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to do so. We don’t want to end up like Earth-That-Was, Catra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I guess we don’t, do we? Well, shit, he is a murderous lunatic, so if it means putting the Martyr down for good I guess I’m in. One small question, though,” Catra said, sounding detached and weary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happens to Adora and the kid? If you shoot me halfway across the galaxy, I can’t protect them. These Second Legion dickheads are gonna try to come for her, I know it. Call her </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore, </span>
  </em>
  <span>call her False Princess...they have it in for her, and if they can put a bullet in your dad, they can put a bullet in her. Stopping Typhon is important to me, but keeping Adora safe is </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>important." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did think of that. Not as dumb as I look, believe it or not. She can stay with me for the duration of the campaign. Security at the castle is locked down tighter than a Horde clone's underwear. I have some of the best soldiers, doctors and waitstaff in the 'verse running this place to boot. I can assure you that your partner and your baby will be taken care of." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah? What happened to wanting to get back in the field? What happened to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>good ol' days</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was before I found out my best friend was pregnant. I'll make sure she's safe. You can count on me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Should be my job…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know, but I need you in the field. The people need a soldier, someone who understands the struggles of the common grunt in the trenches, not a stuffy politician." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It doesn't feel right. What if I miss the birth or something?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, one thing at a time. Just watch your back, stay strong, and get you and your men through this campaign. Sound good?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'd better not let me down here, Sparkles." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am a woman of my word, dear Lord Protector," Glimmer reached into one of the pockets on her greatcoat and withdrew a sheet of paper, "One more thing. I had this requisition filed earlier this morning, just in case. Some special made-to-order gear, just for you. Consider it an insurance policy to make sure you get home in one piece to see your new little family and write those amazing food reviews I know you'll write. You can get the gear today. Uh, don't freak out about who's building it, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why? You know I love Robin Hood's engineering. He finally got the Mark IV auto rifles to stop jamming, just to name an example," Catra explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Except it's not Bow's work. Here, maybe I'll just show you what I mean," Glimmer slid the paper down the table as Catra continued nursing her coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra simply picked the paper up and skimmed it over. When she saw the logo emblazoned over the top, however, she spat out her coffee in discontent. Of all the places to go to today before she could just get back home, it had to be this one. As if she needed any more proof that they were taking over the damn EPG. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Son of a taint,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" she growled, then finished her coffee and cursed the whole rotten system all over again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The constantly expanding colossal conglomerate that was Dryl Industries was estimated to cover a quarter of Etheria’s surface in the next 5 years. In the next 10, some projections put it at half. Frankly, anyone that travelled within any of their occupied Stations would’ve been forgiven for thinking they were already that far. Each settlement was like a glossier version of Earth-That-Was’ Kowloon, a densely-packed cluster of flashy skyscrapers, billboards and shuttles. People liked to think the high-tech corporation was humanity’s best hope for the future, its ambitious up-and-coming CEO always willing to do what was best for scientific progress. Catra could see their point, but she found Dryl’s efforts to be suspicious at best. For one company to control a huge portion of what a nation consumes--a nation that sprawled across many planets to boot--was straight up unsettling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride from Bright Moon to Dryl’s headquarters in Station 7--good old lucky number 7--would’ve normally been a fairly exhausting journey, but a shuttle guaranteed a speedy trip. As the VTOL hovered over the foreboding tech-riddled landscape, flames sputtering out of the tallest buildings while searchlights and advertising holograms lit the overcast sky, Catra crossed her fingers that this would be a short visit. Conversations with the CEO were always 50/50 suppressing a feeling of guilt over their past and trying to get a word in edgewise over the stream of asides and corporate interruptions. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Go in, get the guns, get out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra recited in her head like a mantra, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then I can finally go back to Adora. Put these next few days to good use. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The landing runway in Dryl Industries' pyramid headquarters gaped maddeningly like the maw of some kind of mechanical whale. It seemed appropriate, considering Dryl's whole presence was in and of itself a bit monstrous. If Glimmer was correct, it seemed some of this war was being fought on their behalf, and frankly Catra was apprehensive to say the least about corporate wars. Well, if it meant Typhon would get his atomic-crazed ass off this mortal coil, it couldn't be that bad. She just waited and felt the VTOL slow down, then stepped out once it had fully halted and stepped onto the minimalist, rotund elevator platform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Dryl building's interior was exactly as foreboding as its facade implied. Catra was willing to bet that that was about the extent of Dryl's transparency. Her cynicism around the corporation was probably more than a bit unhealthy, but something about them never failed to set off alarm bells. Even their reception area seemed sinister, pitch black and angular like the rest of the building save for a few panels in the ceiling projecting artificial sunlight. The whole system for reception was seemingly automated, which seemed like a classic move for the CEO; Catra just flashed Glimmer's invoice in front of the weird little camera pylon behind the desk--it seemed she was the only living being in the whole room save a few psychedelic-looking plants--and made her way to yet another elevator, this one encircled by a glass tube. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra wasn't sure how many floors this ziggurat had. It certainly seemed to go on for a while, but eventually the elevator halted. Maybe she was at the top, but it was impossible to tell given there weren't any windows. When the doors opened, there was yet another desk surrounded by more of those artificial sun panels, only this time the desk had an occupant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra. So good to see you again. it's been too long," the dark-haired Horde clone behind the desk said warmly, "Or perhaps I should say Lord Protector?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catra's fine, Hordak," Catra paused at the desk, taking in the odd sight of her former commander in a black suit dress typing on a computer, his eyes behind wiry spectacles, "So what, you're like her secretary?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And co-owner of the company. It's a lovely position, nothing to scoff at. Quite the upgrade, if you ask me. Shall we go? She's been expecting you," Hordak asked, rising from his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lead the way, my lord," Catra snarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hordak waved his hand to move forward and the two of them walked down a narrow hallway with a slight wedge shape to it. The thing climbed upwards ever so slightly, almost like a ramp. Along the walls, strange shapes floated in transparent vats. They looked like they could be almost human, or even some other Etherian races. Needless to say, it was an even more questionable decorative choice than even some of the other strangeness about. The vat people gave Catra chills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice aquarium. Weirdest fish I've ever seen, though," She said sarcastically as they traversed the hall about halfway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're clones. Genetically engineered for any purpose someone desires. Labourers, mostly, but we think lines of soldiers and pleasure models might be lucrative as well. They're not ready for market, though. Not so soon after the last war. Until then, we make do with colonists and convicts," Hordak explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Must be expensive," Catra said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course they are," Hordak led Catra to the end of the hall and let the solitary, unmarked door crack open, "She's inside. Best of luck, old friend." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hope pencil pushing treats you well, my lord," Catra joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, fuck off," Hordak laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra stepped through the ajar doorway at the end, an otherwise unremarkable gateway for such an important person, and entered the CEO's office. While it didn't top the vat people hallway, the decorative sense in the office was also pretty bizarre. The walls were lined with holographic streams of what looked like code; that, or some incomprehensible dead language. This particular room also had an aquarium, this one taking up an entire wall, containing not cloned worker drones but rather some colossal squid-like creature. The CEO's desk in the centre maintained the stark, minimalist flair of the rest of the building, being little more than a raised platform next to a swooped, luxurious chair of metal and leather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilson, I am telling you for the last goddamn time, we launch in the next quarter or we don’t launch at all! Why? What do you mean, why? We’re launching as an MVP! Iterative development pal, all the hot new startups are doing it these days! No, we will not delay it to work on the reaction system! I want DrylBit Plus out on all devices by the next quarter and those Alpharian know-nothings who think they can weasel in on </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>market pissing themselves! This is not--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The purple-haired woman in the lab coat turned around, her formidable locks nudging out of the way to reveal a cobalt-lensed cybereye on one side of her face. The bionic implant narrowed its artificial, light-emitting pupil on Catra and then suddenly widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call you back. A friend is here. Yes, they’re from the army. Finish my website, you gormless clod,” Entrapta ordered into her ear-mounted comm-implant beads in a rapid-fire monotone before seemingly hanging up. The lights on the devices flickered off for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh? How’s it going, you mad scientist?” Catra asked, holding a hand out for her old colleague to shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta said nothing for a minute, simply looking over her former Horde commanding officer with a mix of awe and disbelief. The two had seen essentially none of each other for the past few years. Entrapta’s newfound celebrity due to her creation of the Etherinet and later Dryl Industries was off-putting for Catra. She couldn’t even handle being approached on the street and thanked for her service; to be in the company of the richest woman in the EPG would doubtlessly land her at all kinds of prissy little wine mixers where more people could hassle her, not to mention potential creeps looking to take more nasty photos of her and Adora. Being famous sucked, and Catra wanted to stay as far away from it as she could. Still, even despite their estrangement, the Dryl CEO seemed happy to be reunited with her old comrade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Protector Catra in the flesh,” Entrapta shook Catra’s hand with both of hers, the array of spider-like mechanical assistive arms harnessed to her back twitching with faintly propulsive neurological firing, “Or rather, in the strapping Royal Army officer’s uniform. I am doing quite well, save for that call I was just in. Perhaps I should ask how you are after all these years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As good as anyone leaving their pregnant girlfriend behind for war can be, I guess,” Catra shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pregnant? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You and Adora have a child on the way? Oh, exciting. Most exciting. Was it IVF? I feel as if you’d be the IVF type,” Entrapta asked, as excitable as always. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no. Not IVF. Through, uh--oh god, I can’t believe I’m saying this--</span>
  <em>
    <span>intercourse.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right right right! Because you’re...yes! Fair enough, fair enough! I was unsure if that would even be possible without the aid of specific supplements. It appears my physiological knowledge of transgender individuals is still quite limited indeed, doubtlessly a product of Horde censorship! Such a shame, such a shame,” Entrapta fumfered to herself for a minute, a wry and inspired grin across her face, “In the interest of science, may I collect a semen sample?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As if today couldn’t get anymore uncomfortable, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought to herself, fists curling in frustration at yet more intrusive bullshit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not if you like having functioning kneecaps,” she hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough, good talk. Well, congratulations are in order. Life, uh, finds a way. I shall send a gift basket. Now then, to business,” Entrapta scurried over to her desk and took a seat in the colossal chair. She pressed a button in the armrest of the extravagant seat, causing a smaller one to transmat on the floor across from her desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sparkles sent me. Said you had a gun or something for me,” Catra explained, taking the seat. It wasn’t actually leather, but rather some other material that was softer and smoother; it didn’t feel like anything she’d felt to date. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes! I know exactly what you mean! Those requisitions have been in circulation for some time! I think she always knew you might run into trouble. Nice to have friends in high places, eh? Ack, I digress,” Entrapta paused, catching her breath, “Let me see your sidearm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra rarely ever had to touch her service pistol anymore and she sometimes forgot it was there. A lot of the time, she didn’t wear it with her uniform, but Glimmer insisted that she bring it today. No doubt this was due to all the fear in the air, the repeated shootings and the impending war with an enemy who could seemingly be anyone, anywhere, at any given time. She unlatched her holster and took the pistol out of its confines, holding it up for Entrapta to see. Gun safety was of course a must, so Catra was careful not to point the thing at Entrapta even by accident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of gun is this, Lord Protector?” Entrapta asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, it’s my service pistol. Pretty self-explanatory, really. It’s a standard issue Royal 5011, just a semi-automatic handgun that fires .45 AEP rounds. Every soldier in the Royal Army has one. Same goes for the other branches of service. Probably, anyway,” Catra twirled the thing on her finger a minute. She was really proud of her pistol-spinning technique. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Well, safety’s on, dipshit,” Entrapta blurted nonchalantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha--” Catra started, but she had no time to react as one of Entrapta’s assistive limbs snatched the weapon from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mechanical limb extended and retracted like a coiling snake, grabbing Catra’s pistol with impossible strength. The four-pronged manipulator at the end of the arm proceeded to squeeze the gun into an unrecognizable pile of scrap and then drop it to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. Quite the aggressive sales pitch,” Catra said, a bit stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, as if that isn’t the best kind. My point has been made though, has it not? These standard issue guns, they’re flimsy. Sure, they’ll work good enough for your average soldier, but you need something </span>
  <em>
    <span>better. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Protector</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and by the First Ones you need some high-quality gear that’ll really show you’re ready to </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect </span>
  </em>
  <span>your queen and country! Something that’ll really scare the socks off of these Second Legion guys! That’s why I created </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Entrapta concluded her tangent by reaching for something under her desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Dryl CEO produced a hefty box, bearing the Dryl logo of a stylized letter D designed to look like an arrow. She proceeded to slide it to Catra, who did her best to support the thing's considerable weight. Whatever it was, it was heavy. The situation felt kind of like Christmas in a twisted way, though the impending war certainly killed any excitement fairly quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's in this thing? Rocks?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even better, though I do love a good sediment every now and then! Go on, open it!" Entrapta exclaimed, barely containing her excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra went ahead and unbuckled the box's seals, each one a dramatic thing made of heavy brass. What lay inside was indeed much better than a pile of rocks. The velvet-lined case instead contained a massive, exotic handgun ringed by speed reloaders in one compartment; the adjacent compartment contained a sabre, a refined and elegant sword with a cobalt-colored blade extending from a brassy handguard. Regardless of how it would otherwise play out, this war was certainly going to be fought with style.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never seen anything like this before," Catra remarked, a bit awestruck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you haven't, Lord Protector! These were custom-made specially for you and you alone!" Entrapta sounded proud of her handiwork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see. Care to tell me what makes 'em so special?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, for starters, a lot of things. When the Queen sent the requisition along, the first thing I did was watch some old combat footage of you. Bodycam stuff, from the reformations. Blurry. Full of military jargon. Chest pounding. You know how it is. What I noticed is that when you fire your sidearm, you tend to bend your elbow. That's more of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>revolver</span>
  </em>
  <span> technique. Thusly, I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>work of art commissioned, built out of the receiver of an old Great Horde War-era Navy revolver. It's a double action, firing custom-tooled flechette shells to ensure nothing gets past you," Entrapta paused and sighed with excitement, "The internal bleeding shall be </span>
  <em>
    <span>spectacular</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra picked the gun up from its confines, letting it sit in her hands as she got a feel for it. She wouldn’t have felt surprised if the thing accounted for a majority of its case’s weight. You could put two wheels on the silvery magnum and call it a cannon, for the First Ones’ sake. She spun the thing on her finger a few times, then slid it into her holster like she was a frontier gunslinger. Before putting it away, she noticed something faintly gleaming along the barrel’s length; it appeared to be some sort of engraving of a weird pinup-effigy of Adora and her sword, the word ‘Grayskull’ etched into the blade. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They know their audience, I’ll give ‘em that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, smirking at the illustration while also feeling a bit uncomfortable that someone drew that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sword is a little less complicated in terms of inspiration, yet it is still a masterpiece of engineering! The blade is laced with a depleted radium-uranium compound. If your admirable swashbuckling doesn’t topple your foe, the radiation burns certainly will. Pretty cool, right?” Entrapta explained with </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too much enthusiasm. The way she said </span>
  <em>
    <span>radiation burns</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded like the way someone described a telescreen program or Etherinet series they were passionately immersed in, not a means of killing or maiming a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno if ‘cool’ is the right word, but it’s still good hardware. Thanks for this, Entrapta. Glad someone called in a favour with you to help me through this,” Catra took the sabre and attached the scabbard to her belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, of course! You know, you could’ve called yourself and I would have written you a blank cheque! You could’ve asked me for a gatling laser and I’d probably ship you our entire stock! Always happy to do business with a friend!” Entrapta said, still maintaining her eerie enthusiasm, “Oh goodness, where are my manners? My HUD is saying it’s 2:30, you must be famished. You want me to get us some lunch? It’s all tiny food, of course, but my chef is an absolute genius, rest assured!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that. Lunch sounds great though, thanks,” Catra smiled at the offer. It’d be good to try some new food and get her mind off of the weapon talk for a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta’s earpieces flickered back on, seemingly activated by some other internal mechanism. The CEO’s chrome was probably the cream of Dryl’s crop, so doubtlessly it functioned at a much more advanced level than anything widely available in the world. Many of the prosthetics Catra had seen on the doughboys had been little more than motorized claws or hooks; practically wooden pegs compared with what Entrapta was packing. Made sense that she'd keep all the best inventory for herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kevin, honey! Gonna need a couple helpings of the lunch special, and make it snappy! Yes, correct, two number nines! Thanks love!" Entrapta ordered, gently but nonetheless loudly, into her earpieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do I at least get to know what the lunch special is?" Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just trust me, you'll love it! Kevin </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> disappoints!" Entrapta reassured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them sat a while and waited, parlaying and catching up on very little of importance. Catra wondered for a minute if perhaps Entrapta's Kevin was the same Kevin Sea Hawk had had a fling with, but she figured it was probably just a coincidence. It was a fairly common name, after all. Still seemed odd to hear about two Kevins in one day. The two made mind-disintegrating small talk for a couple more minutes before there was a ding at the door and someone entered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What in the goddamn? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought in disbelief at the sight of the man in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Apologies, ladies, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I also hope you're prepared for an unforgettable luncheon," a Horde clone in a white dress shirt and bow tie, fancy silver tray in hand, chirped as he strutted across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Meh," Catra shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kevin! Always a pleasure! What have you got for us?" Entrapta asked, eager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As promised…" Kevin ran his free hand through his silver and green hair, then placed his tray on Entrapta's desk, "Two lunch specials. I hope you enjoy eating them as much as I enjoyed preparing them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin lifted the cover off the tray to reveal two clusters of sliders, about four in each serving. The buns looked to be made of brioche, while there didn't seem to be much to the toppings besides meat and cheese. It was simple food, but that didn't necessarily correlate with bad food. Grilled cheese was simple food, and those were great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tiny hamburgers! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh goodness, I couldn't even remember what today's special was, but this is definitely a lovely surprise!" Entrapta exclaimed as she immediately snatched one of the sliders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tiny hamburgers actually have a name. They're called sliders," Catra corrected Entrapta, stealing a slider for herself and almost demolishing it in one bite. She hadn't had a thing since her very early breakfast, and felt as if she could easily have about twelve of these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pretty sure they're just tiny hamburgers," Entrapta said, seemingly confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're literally called sliders, dude," Catra tried to explain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's easier if you just play along," Kevin whispered to Catra before suddenly returning to his normal, outgoing tone and demeanor, “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. People used to call me ‘Wrong Hordak’ but these days I’m just Kevin. You must be Lord Protector Catra. A pleasure to meet you and thank you very much for your continued service.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem, pal. Damn good slide--uh, I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>tiny hamburger</span>
  </em>
  <span>, by the way. I like your use of the brioche to give it a bit of sweetness,” Catra said with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my, a woman of refined taste! You always seem to bring in the best people, miss Entrapta,” Kevin smiled, returning the wink as he was known to do sometimes, “Well, I shall leave you ladies of distinction to your meal. I wish you the best in whatever business you plan to conduct! Tah-tah!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin departed, and the office once again became a private meeting between a merchant of death and her client. However, there wasn’t much more to discuss. Catra had the gear, Entrapta had presumably been paid, all was well. Catra did have one small request, however. Just something while she was here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Entrapta, you know my whip?” Catra asked, mouth full of ‘tiny hamburger’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am unfamiliar with such a contraption, but I am able to grasp the general concept based on your introduction,” Entrapta replied, nibbling her own portion gingerly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you could make it into a grappling hook?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A scientist’s work is never done, I suppose. Tell you what, Lord Protector. Just enjoy the revolver and the sword for now, but if you find that they’re just not cutting it on the battlefield, you can always requisition more supplies from your friendly neighbourhood arms dealer,” Entrapta paused, seemingly waiting for an unspoken point to settle in, “That’d be me. I’m always happy to do business with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe a little too eager</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them scarfed down the remainder of their sliders in short order, Catra finding the paradoxical simplistic elegance of the things to be a nice distraction from reality at the moment. The man formerly known as Wrong Hordak knew his way around a slider, she’d give him that much. Entrapta asked if there was anything else Catra might’ve needed to talk about while she was there--despite her corporate suit superficiality, the Dryl boss did seem to genuinely miss her old friend--but Catra insisted that she needed to hurry home. Adora was waiting for her, and she figured the sooner she broke the bad news to her the better. Entrapta understood, leaving Catra with some final advice as she headed for the door with her new weapons in tow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Si vis pacem, para bellum. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You want peace? You’re gonna have to go to war first,” the Dryl CEO ominously recited, “You’ll get through this, Catra. We’re the good guys. We’ll come out on top.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Catra sat in the elevator back down to the runway, she found herself running those words through her head again and again like a coin through her fingers. Why did it have to be that way? They’d already fought a war, why did they have to have another one? It seemed so incredibly frustrating, especially at a time like this. Just when everything seemed to finally be drifting towards a new normal, a stability where her and Adora could finally be happy together and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>start a family, </span>
  </em>
  <span>things had to fall apart again. There didn’t seem to be much about Dryl that was heroic, either; they built much of the new world’s infrastructure, but now they’d be assembling the tools with which the new world would kill itself with. It all seemed so sterile, vapid, trivial. How did that make them the good guys?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped out onto the runway, slick with a combination of blown-in rain and leaked shuttle fuel, only to find herself being interrupted on the way back to her private VTOL. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Protector, wait!” a vaguely familiar voice called amidst the sound of firing thrusters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looked over her shoulder to find Kevin, doubled over as if he was catching his breath. Clearly he’d been in quite the hurry to get to her. Hopefully this would be over quickly. If Kevin turned out to be a crazed fan, maybe she’d get her first test of this big iron on her hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey. Kevin, right?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one and only. Look, I, uh...how are you right now?” Kevin asked his own question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, my girlfriend is pregnant, I’m about to throw myself towards a potentially nasty death against an atomic-obsessed dickhead, and to top it all off it’s freezing out here. Do the math.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say! And I thought I was having a bad day, seeing as how my boyfriend dumped me and all. I think you have me beat, miss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re gonna want to drop the ‘miss’ shit now. I’m just Catra, okay?” she paused to centre herself, knowing this guy probably didn’t deserve the guff, “I’m...sorry about your boyfriend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no worries! He was a bit of an odd fellow, I don’t think we could’ve made it last. He said we had to ‘go on a break’ or something because he wanted to rekindle an old flame. Some girl in the Navy. Alas, a tough act to follow, I’m afraid,” Kevin recounted, his voice sounding like it was caught between confidence and remorse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, was his name Sea Hawk? Loud guy, moustache, bit of a pyromaniac?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! I guess all you military types know each other. Don’t even get me started on the fire thing. Oh, lord…” Kevin cringed, “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Judging by your response to my sliders--yes, you were correct, they are indeed called that--I’m guessing you’re a bit of a fellow culinary aficionado?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, sure. It’s not really anything, I’m just pretentious I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no, please! Be kind to yourself right now, you need it! Look, uh, getting to my point here, I’m a bit of an aspiring entrepreneur. Working for Dryl is lovely, but I want to get out there and do something with a bit more career potential. Can’t serve coffee to Entrapta all my life, know what I mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For sure,” Catra said, though admittedly a life of serving coffee to people sounded infinitely preferable to life of shooting them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, umm, I have some of the important documents together with all the number crunching necessary to start my own cafe. It’s a lot of hard work, though. I’m looking for a business partner, someone who can help me do the math, get some VC, maybe bounce logo ideas off of...mostly, though, I need someone who puts their heart into food like I do. Basically, what I’m trying to say is--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I’ll help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean, uh, of course you will! I made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, that’s the Kevin guarantee,” Kevin winked again. Catra swore he almost sparkled for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, on VE Day I spent a whole conversation gushing about the buttercream on a cake. I might be your gal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I know the cake you’re talking about. That was one of mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, that buttercream was fucking orgasmic. You are a legend. Guess I’m just gonna have to work with you now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two had a laugh. It all felt silly, two food nerds standing in the middle of a landing pad shooting the breeze about their shared interest. It was like for a moment, even though the world around them seemed to be ending, today was just another day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look man,” Catra started, “I’d love to work on this cafe thing with you, really. Been meaning to hang up my holster for a while now. Right now though, I gotta concentrate on not getting sent home in a body bag. I’ll give you my communicator contact and we can talk more as the situation plays out. One day at a time, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Kevin said as he passed Catra his communicator, “Take care of yourself. I wish you a safe return home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra typed her number into the communicator, then returned it to Kevin and nodded to him with a weak smile. It amazed her how people who came out of the Horde turned out. Some clung to the past, some wanted it buried, and some just wanted to open coffee shops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you, Kevin. Sorry about you and Sea Hawk,” Catra waved to her potential new business partner as she headed towards the VTOL. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who needs him? Guy was an idiot anyway,” Kevin returned the wave as he headed back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Catra heard the VTOL’s engines spin up, door hissing shut behind her, she thought of how all this was going to play out in the end. The situation was bad without a doubt, and right now all she wanted was to get home and see Adora while she still could, but there existed some sparks of hope amidst all of this. Glimmer was as persistent as ever about getting Catra that writing gig, Kevin was cooking up this cafe scheme, and amidst all this her and Adora were going to have a baby. Things on the homefront were honestly looking pretty bright. All the more reason to fight this thing as hard as she could, if the fight absolutely had to be carried out. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least I’ll have a pretty interesting world to come back to if I get outta this alive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, dozing off for the ride home. Her dreams were of Adora and freshly-made lattes; it was wrought with anxiety and ominousness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was late in the day by the time Catra got off the VTOL and stepped back into Station 9's small town charm. She practically sprinted home, already feeling like her time with Adora was of the essence. Once she got in the door, she noticed just how deathly quiet everything inside was. It was a nice change from claustrophobic war rooms and endless corporate flashiness. Yet somehow the house felt almost haunted </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>haunting. What had once been a monument to Catra's new life in an age of peace and happiness now felt like a lie, a temporary distraction from the real world of the war. She walked through this silent monument, hanging the gun and sabre on the wall hook where her previous equipment had been, and fell to the couch. She figured it might be good to go find Adora or maybe get dinner going or </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get her mind refocused, but all Catra could do was stare at her own feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Protector heaved a sigh as she tilted her head and looked about the room. When she looked to the empty spot on the couch beside her, she found something she didn’t quite expect, though what exactly she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had been </span>
  </em>
  <span>expecting was anyone’s guess: it was Adora’s signature red jacket. Catra surmised her lover had probably been out for a walk or something--half parts trying to get back into her routine cardio and trying to freshen up after spending part of the day vomiting--and just left the thing on the sofa for some reason. Adora herself was nowhere to be found, possibly resting again. Catra missed her already, wanting to just go to her and explain the situation and what had to be done but not having the courage or motivation to carry any of it out. Instead, she just grabbed hold of the jacket and pulled it in, noticing Adora’s familiar scent on the garment and feeling bittersweet comfort. That was when Catra broke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she found herself screaming to the empty room, tears welling up as she hugged the jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck was she even doing amid all this? What did a broken-down, washed-up mess like Catra even know about making the galaxy safe for democracy? The Horde was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be dead and gone, whatever was left of it stomped out and purged from Etheria and its colonies in the reformation. The war was supposed to be done, so why couldn’t she just have this? Why couldn’t she just put down the gun and have her happy ending with Adora and their little one? She cried and cried in futility and all-encompassing pain; she just wanted to stop existing. She wanted the universe to be out of uniform and at ease forever. The future had been bright, but now it was cold and rotted and dead with fear and the bloody mud of a thousand lonely trenches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then something cut through the gloom, just for a minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kitten, you okay?” Adora asked suddenly, getting the jump on Catra same as always as she made her way downstairs, “I heard screaming. What happened at that meeting? You’ve been gone--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey babe,” Catra sniffed, trying hard to stabilize herself. Whatever courage she’d lacked before, she would need to find it now. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re in fucking trouble.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. As I Plunge On Into Certain Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Lord Protector and her allies ship off for Ahriman. The Royal Army's mettle is tested against the crude but tenacious Second Legion forces as they make their first push over the top to capture an enemy stronghold. Frontline combat is brutal, and survival is obviously not guaranteed. It will be a team effort that requires Catra's willpower, Bow's optimism and Scorpia's charisma (and ginormous muscles) if it is to succeed, and even then the road to Typhon has only just begun...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 10: As I Plunge On Into Certain Death </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So you’re shipping off today? This is, as they say, it?” Adora had said to her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Afraid so. Bags are packed and everything,” Catra said, fixing her uniform up in the mirror. Adora’s hands were around her waist, her chin rested on the shoulder from which her greatcoat hung. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your idea of packed, or mine?” Adora joked. She’d been so good with finding levity amidst all this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, well, probably closer to yours if I had to guess. Regulations and all that. Total crap, but I guess they want it all to fit on the frigate all neat and tidy.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Which one were you on again? The Pershing or the Nivelle or one of those?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, no. I’m on the Angella. The Lord Protector gets to ride on the flagship, after all. Want me all nice and comfy before they send me into the meat grinder.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey,” Adora put a comforting hand on the nape of Catra’s neck, her touch gentle as always, “You know Glimmer and I will be in contact with you between firefights. Call us whenever you need, okay? I know it’s not the same as being here with me and our little friend, but as far as I’m concerned you’re still gonna be with me through this.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You gonna give me combat tips or something? Sparkles was saying if we had you in the field, we’d be in and out within a month.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean, sure, but I just meant little check ins to see how you’re doing every now and then.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That...Yeah, that sounds perfect, Adora. I’ll be sure to call," Catra finished adjusting her uniform, "Look, I gotta get going." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adora's embrace had tightened. Catra had known she didn't want it to be that time. She didn't want her to go. Maybe if Adora could go into battle alongside her, it would've been easier. Just another conflict they'd bear down, like the Horde war and reformations before it, together. Being a team on this mission wasn't safe, however. Catra couldn't give Adora what she wanted, no matter how much she desired it. Years ago she'd begged Adora to stay; pity she couldn't seem to return the favour now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Just promise me this," Adora started, possibly holding back tears, "Don't do anything stupid. Please, just come home in one piece." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What if I don't, and I come home with a cool cyber arm instead? Admit it, you'd find that pretty hot," Catra's gallows humor had been pretty much the only constant lately. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You ass...Just promise me you’ll play it safe and stay on your toes, okay? For me,” Adora had taken one of Catra’s hands and rested it on her belly, just barely beginning to round out, “For us.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catra had let the hand run from Adora’s belly up to her cheek, bringing her in and kissing her for what would be one of the last times. They would get one more in at the space port. It would prove to be enough to elicit tears from the both of them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay,” Catra had said, trying her best to smile and seem confident, “I promise.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Could she even keep that promise, though? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rise and shine, wildcat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra awoke with a start and a shout, immediately springing up from her bed with revolver in hand. All her visions that night had been of Adora, and her sleep had been fitful and rough. She pointed the flechette gun down past her bunk and out towards her door, outstretched fist clenched around her gun and shaking. She wasn’t even at the front, and already she was making rookie mistakes like leaving the door to her quarters ajar. She spun the revolver on her finger and rested it at her side once she realized who the intruder was, the one who disturbed her sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Save some for the enemy, tiger!” Scorpia raised her claws to cover her face. She was wearing a Royal Army tanker uniform, unmistakable from the baggy coat to the blast proof goggles utop her forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. Got a little startled. You know better than to sneak up on me like that, man,” Catra sighed, rubbing her eyes, “What can I do you for, Scorps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just came to check in, see how you were doing. You had a bit of a rough night, picking a fight with that Corporal in the mess like that,” Scorpia let herself into Catra’s slightly-less-cramped officer’s quarters, little more than four steel walls with a bunk, a desk, and a mini-hydroponic set behind a glass case. The towering scorpioni general had to bend over to fit through the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had it coming. Fucker was passing around those creepshots of me and Adora. Had the gall to ask me </span>
  <em>
    <span>how tight </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was. Got off easy with a broken nose,” Catra’s fists balled up, scrunching a handful of her covers, “Should’ve had his ass tossed out the airlock.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Right. Uh, well, thanks for the background. Makes sense,” Scorpia sat beside the Lord Protector on her bunk, “Guess that didn’t help your situation much. The whole ‘leaving your pregnant girlfriend behind to go to war’ thing. Just wanted to say that I get it. I’m leaving behind a wife and daughter. Dunno if it’ll ever get easier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s it sitting so far?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, y’know, I’m surviving. On the inside, I’m probably just as shaky as you, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious, wildcat! This shit is </span>
  <em>
    <span>brutal, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m just exceptional at bottling it up and putting on a smile,” Scorpia put a claw around Catra’s shoulder. She tensed at first, but leaned into it just a bit, “Look, I’m being redeployed, but I know we’ll have each other’s backs in this no matter what. We’re bros. It’s what we do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in Armored, I’m guessing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it! Apparently my squad is some sort of penal legion from the wastes, so that ought to be a hoot. Look at it this way, now I can cover your ass with a bigass tank.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No prob! Just a couple of bros and their tank, rolling across Ahriman and being big goddamn heroes. And hey, when you get home, you’re gonna be one awesome mom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody keeps saying that,” Catra huffed in frustration, “You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that. None of you do. I’m a wreck. I just pulled a gun on you for startling me, for the First Ones’ sake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I know parenthood can be scary, but you got this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do. You’re Catra. And I’m gonna be right there the whole time to pass on whatever sage advice I can to my best bro.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you’ll help?” Catra seemed almost in disbelief, letting out a solitary exasperated laugh, “You’d do that for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course, bud. Takes a village. Plus, you’re lyin’ to yourself if you think our kids </span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna be best bros too,” Scorpia started to laugh dryly as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they’ll fall in love or something!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dude, don’t, they’re too young to be thinking about that stuff. Hell, mine’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>born </span>
  </em>
  <span>yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, right! Just kidding! Anyway, though, I got your back. From Ahriman to wherever we end up,” Scorpia reeled the Lord Protector in closer. She did indeed give great hugs, and Catra was kind of happy she was here, willing to forgive and forget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, bro. Same to you. Maybe if we stick together, we’ll get through this,” Catra returned the friendly embrace, knowing that years ago this would’ve annoyed the shit out of her, “Hey, I dunno if I’ve ever told you this, but I’m sorry I was such a dick before. Back when we were in the Horde, I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice while we were drunk. Don’t blame you for not remembering though. Anyway, wildcat, it’s water off a Salinean mud crab’s back. If we can’t leave the past in the past, we’ll never be able to make the present count. Know what I mean?” Scorpia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...think so?” Catra said with audible confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll get the hang of it. Gets easier. Takes time. But it’s worth it to forgive, for yourself and for others,” the scorpioni general’s diction was weirdly poetic, “How’re you feelin’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better. A little more ready, I think,” Catra smiled with some effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fabulous, good for you. Hit me up the next time we have a minute, in between gunfire and ‘splodey bits or what have you. I'm always down for a little bro-to-bro heart-to-heart. In the meantime, I gotta skedaddle. Pretty soon we'll be planetside," Scorpia let Catra go, rising to her feet and heading back out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia headed out, again having to bend slightly to make it through the door. As she moved back out into the heavy, lifeless steel corridor of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angella</span>
  </em>
  <span>'s crew quarters, she froze. Something in the hall had taken her by surprise. She didn't look terribly frightened by whatever it was, however. Instead, she smiled at it, that big goofy grin that was so classically Scorpia's. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A good morning to you too, General," she called down the hall, then looked back at Catra, "Seems you've got more visitors, tiger." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah? Tell 'em visiting hours have been delayed until I'm not sitting around in my underwear," the Lord Protector sneered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just me, Catra,” Bow’s voice echoed from somewhere in the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. It’s just Robin Hood. Let ‘em pass, Scorps. Just give me a minute here,” Catra directed as she threw her covers over her form, dressed in nothing but the white undershirt and stripey undergarments she went to bed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow appeared in the doorway beside Scorpia, already wearing his uniform. Like Catra’s, it was anything but standard issue. Bow may have been a standard General rather than a flashy Lord Protector, but he was also Glimmer’s right-hand man and chief of R&amp;D as such, he got some wiggle room to make personal field modifications. His flak armor only covered his upper body and was painted red, white and gold because of course it was. A cowled camo-cloak, emblazoned with a pattern of red-gold hearts (again, because of course it was), was draped over him and concealed his signature recurve and a bandolier of customized projectiles. A kukri sat in a short scabbard on the front of his flak jacket. A glowing red monocular was strapped over his right eye, some sort of gadget for assisting with aiming. Catra wondered if maybe he was rocking a smart link with that, figuring if anyone was gonna let a cyber-surgeon drill a hole into their heads it’d be the crafty quartermaster-slash-sniper himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mornin’. Figured I’d touch base, seeing as how we’re gonna be making planetfall in an hour or two. You’ll be happy to know Corporal Reyes got out of the infirmary at 0430, and he agreed to delete those copies of the photos,” he explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little bastard better. Next time it’ll be a bullet in his skull,” Catra snarled at the very memory of that encounter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heck, even I wouldn’t lose sleep over that,” Bow laughed nervously, “Have you seen any of the firepower they’re carrying in the lower hangars? The artillery, the walkers, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>tanks? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The papers are saying the Prime Minister put something like a quarter of the interplanetary budget towards the war effort.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here I thought he’d be spending all of it on apples and oats,” Catra joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, don’t knock him, he’s a good guy. Great hair, cool horn. You ladies holding up okay?” Bow asked, looking from Scorpia to Catra and then back at Scorpia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re both leaving a lot behind, lotta stuff at stake here. We’ll push through, though. Just gotta stick together,” Catra summarized, her optimism predominantly feigned. If it was Typhon they were fighting and not some weird duplicate, their chances of getting through this--stuck together or not--were at best extraordinarily hazy. Even as Generals, they were all in for a tough ride; being a higher ranking officer just meant a bigger target on their back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn straight, bro! We’re gonna knock the Second Legion on their ass without breaking a sweat and be home in time for Christmas!” Scorpia suddenly gasped, “Yo, Catra, do I detect a new Super Pal Trio in the making here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra groaned, then laughed dryly to herself. She scooped herself up off the bed, leaving her revolver by the pillow. The blanket was thin enough that it didn’t pose much of a risk of tripping over it as she walked. She approached a slightly confused-looking Scorpia, then proceeded to give the scorpioni general a firm pat on her chitinous shoulder, shaking her. Or doing her best to shake her at any rate, given she was the size of a brick shithouse. Kind of hard to believe she was a bottom, assuming Perfuma was a trustworthy source on that stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, Scorpia Winifred Andromeda, my good pal, you got it all wrong. See, we ain’t a Super </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pal</span>
  </em>
  <span> Trio,” Catra laughed at the way Scorpia winced at the mention of her full name, “We, my friend, are Super </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bro </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trio.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit yeah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Scorpia cried out eagerly, seemingly forgiving Catra for the utterance of her name--whoever names their kid something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Winifred </span>
  </em>
  <span>is just asking for trouble--and lifting her off the ground in a crushing embrace of her usual variety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A tri-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bro, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you will,” Bow added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra and Scorpia suddenly ceased their revelry with abruptness so shocking that it may as well have been accompanied by a canned record scratch sound effect. They stared at Bow awkwardly, both looking more than a little disgusted. Bow just felt a little befuddled. Catra hadn’t eyed him up with that much disgust ever since he’d suggested fondant was a valid icing choice. What was wrong with tri-Bro? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, bud. Just no,” Catra cringed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even I think that’s not cool,” Scorpia spat with equal indignation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on guys! It was pretty clever! I can be cool too, y’know!” Bow exclaimed, embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name one cool thing you can do besides shoot arrows really fast,” Catra demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have you know I happen to be able to cook minute rice in under 58 seconds,” Bow bragged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You son of a bitch, you’re in,” Catra waved Bow over. The three generals joined in a loose group hug, all of them giggling a bit at the absurdity of this whole exchange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen up, guys. I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared as hell. Bet you are, too. But we’re the EPG. We always kick the bad guys’ asses. Got through the reformations, didn’t we? And you know why we got through the reformations, why we’re able to be such consistent ass-kickers? Because we have one thing they don’t. One thing that they will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>have. Can you guess what it is? I’ll give you ten seconds, no lifelines, go,” Catra waxed, though admittedly her faith in her own words was a bit limited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better dress sense?” Scorpia answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A seven-foot-tall First Ones space marine with a giant sword and luscious hair who can’t help us because she got knocked up by her girlfriend?” Bow guessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. Neither of those. You guys suck. It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendship, </span>
  </em>
  <span>my dudes. We care about our own, take care of them. I can attest that neither the Horde nor Typhon care for that. Naturally, we just have a stronger bond. That oughta give us an advantage," Catra furrowed her brow, "Or something. I'm not good at this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cliched, but still somehow weirdly inspirational. I like it," Bow laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotta agree. Careful, wildcat. Think you might be getting soft and squishy on us," Scorpia teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know I'm all edges, bro," Catra reassured her scorpioni pal, mostly knowing it was just playful ribbing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Attention. All essential personnel prepare for deployment. Planetfall in T minus one hour," </span>
  </em>
  <span>A computerized voice boomed over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angella</span>
  </em>
  <span>'s PA system, signaling their arrival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, that's our queue. I'd better get ready. We got this, guys," Catra let go of the other Super Bro Trio members, heading back towards her room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotta say, I think we do. See you on the other side, wildcat," Scorpia said with a wink and a wave as she started back down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And may the hand of the First Ones be with you!" Bow called, moving in the same direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Catra shot back, still uneasy despite her speech and moment with friends, "May the hand of the First Ones be with us all." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"'Nother round?" Corporal Reyes, sitting at the other end of the makeshift "table"--an unopened wooden crate of ammunition--asked as he produced another bottle of ration-issue rum, voice still nasally from when Catra socked him in the nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're going over the top soon. I'd better not," Catra thumbed her glass pensively, knowing full well she should've just said yes. Still, facing a machine gun while drunk didn't sound too smart to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your loss, boss lady," Reyes poured himself another drink, "I'm real sorry about a while ago, by the way. You know how it is, the boys and I were just joking around and it got outta control--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Save it. Stop talking and drink your stupid rum ration," Catra barely made eye contact, instead briefly letting her hand hover over her gun in hopes it would convey the right message. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay…" Reyes whimpered as he brought the tin cup to his lips. That shut him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first forty-eight hours on Ahriman had been fairly smooth. Catra had led a few combat patrols with her assigned regiment, the 101st Bright Moon Fusiliers or 'Screaming Hellcats' as they were now calling themselves, where some shots were fired but no one got hurt. Things would've felt almost manageable if not for their orders tonight. Glimmer was having them assault a modest Second Legion fortification to the northeast of their dugout, the very same one that had presumably been the one shelling them for three days straight. The attack was to be the first in a series of offensive pushes designed to break through to the Second Legion's inner headquarters, where its chain of command could be laid bare and Typhon could be found and eliminated. It was to be their first major test of strength, and needless to say the atmosphere in the trench was tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the Royal Army's best efforts to make the dugout feel like home, it continued to be a mere hole in the ground. Ahriman's soil was a mix of ice and thick, chunky permafrost, and as such it had taken a lot of work to carve up the chilly underground shelter. Catra found herself in the command dugout with the other officers and command retinue, the chamber being barely more civilized than the rest of the trench with a few furnishings of maps, radio equipment, artifacts from home. The extra rum rations were certainly handy. Bow was playing 'Take Me Home, Country Roads' on his guitar in the far corner of the room, playing for a half-drunk audience of veterans from his own regiment, the 77th "Electric Eyes". As he strummed the last note, he took a brief bow and jogged over to the "table" with Catra and Reyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not gonna give us an encore, General?" Reyes asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm all nerves right now, dunno if I have it in me," Bow chuckled nervously, "Pass me some of the weird army grog, would you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reyes nodded, filled one of the unused tin cups with rum, and slid it to Bow. The combat engineer snatched it, took a deep swig, and then slammed the now-empty cup on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Nother one," he gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whoa there! Thought you were a 'one drink and that's it' kinda guy? The hell's gotten into you, man?" Catra asked, dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I hear you're a bit of a square, General. What's the occasion?" Reyes chimed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Frontline combat is the occasion. I can't even hear myself think over my anxiety," Bow said, voice electrified with panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you're no good to us drunk, that's for sure. Won't make this any easier my friend, I assure you," Catra put an arm around her compatriot, "Look, just try not to do anything stupid out there and we'll get through it quick and clean. It's just a skirmish, barely a step up from patrol. You'll be fine, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow fumfered for a moment, then groaned and threw his head on the table. This op was getting to him, that much was apparent. Evidently it wasn’t enough to throw him off his rhythm when it came to John Denver covers, but otherwise it seemed like he was at his wit’s end. Perhaps some unorthodox morale raising was necessary. That rum ration wasn’t the strongest stuff, anyhow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another round, Reyes. For all of us,” Catra ordered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye aye, captain. Knew you’d come around,” Reyes set to work pouring the drinks, “If you can ignore the weird copper-y aftertaste, it’s pretty good shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, like I could ignore aftertaste,” Catra snarked as she knocked back her second drink of the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you start,” Bow wagged his finger at Catra disapprovingly. She just rolled her eyes and snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That helping loosen you up, Robin Hood? The drink, that is,” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess. Just...this whole situation just feels wrong. I dunno if I should be here,” Bow contemplated, looking his own hands over as if there was blood on them. Soon enough, there may very well have been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you talking about? You’re a General in the Royal Army and one of the best techies in the business. Entrapta and her suits at Dryl </span>
  <em>
    <span>wish </span>
  </em>
  <span>they had a tenth of your field experience and know-how,” Catra smiled half-heartedly. Being inspirational and upbeat had never been a strong suit of hers, and she feared her total absence of faith in her words would be apparent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah, but...in the last war, I used trick arrows loaded with things like smoke bombs and nets. During the reformations, I did crowd control and spec ops with things like riot foam or tracer darts. Out here, it's different. Command has me packing HE, incendiary, </span>
  <em>
    <span>chlorine gas...</span>
  </em>
  <span>how the hell am I supposed to use any of that?" Bow fretted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Point and shoot. Just like the other gadgets, I'd assume," Catra reflexively grabbed her cup, only to find it was empty and feel a bit sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, not like that. I mean," Bow sighed heavily, voice almost shaking, "I'm not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>murderer, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm. Well, don't worry," Catra gave Bow a pat on the back, secured her belt, and rose to her feet as she headed off to rally the troops, “I am.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mass of EPG infantry gathered along the edge of the trench, Catra and Bow in the eye of the storm with their regiments’ respective command teams. There was a clicking and flashing of steel as bayonets were fixed, then a horrible klaxon as the signal was given to charge. The battle was on, and it was a spectacle like something out of Dante’s seven circles. The Second Legion didn’t know they were coming, but they reacted fast. First there came a crude bombardment, then a mass of infantry. The armies met in No Man’s Land and engaged in massed rifle engagements across whatever cover the debris and snow could offer, staining the white landscape all shades of red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt disoriented amongst it all. It really had been ages since the reformations, and even then no conflict in that had quite the same level of brutality as this. Combatants were shot, exploded, impaled, beaten to death, all reduced to red smears amidst the cast-off junk of a privileged nation. Amidst the chaos, a series of shell explosions had scattered Catra’s command squad and sent them running, and now she was separated from them. Her ears still rang from the detonation as she took cover behind the wreck of one of the mining buggies the Second Legion was using for dedicated transport. Enemy soldiers in black mining suits charged her position, only to meet a grisly end again and again as they either became flechette pincushions or were hacked to bits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit, where’s Armoured?” the Lord Protector cursed, fumbling a fresh speed reloader worth of shells into her revolver. Another Second Legion shell--an improvised, dirty explosive fired unmistakably from a Horde howitzer judging from the noise--whined overhead and sent a cloud of nearby mud, snow and vapourized guts flying across Catra’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the battlefield, hiding in the dismal embrace of a sizable shell crater, Catra thought she could make out the unarmored face of her squadmate Morrisson. She was Plumerian in stock, hair tied back in an elaborate braid as she clutched a battered plasma caster to her chest. Some of the soldiers huddled with her were still moving, their royal purple fatigues stained with varying flavors of mud, while others were crumpled in a limp, bloodied heap. Catra did her best to make her way over there, practically getting down on all fours and assuming her almost feral cat-like stance, and sprinted across the pockmarked ground. A burst of machine gun fire tore the air just above her head and she found herself bent even closer to the ground as she ran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morrisson!” Catra screamed as she slid into the crater, rolling over beside her dirty blonde-headed advisor, “Where’s the rest of our squad? I need a radio link!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got separated during the initial blasts! I think they--</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Morrisson was interrupted as a bullet whizzed past her, “They headed over there, for the ruined church. Thought it’d give us a vantage point, maybe dust some of those Emma Gs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me! You hold position, I’m going for the church. If our Storm Bulls show up, you’ll know I made it. If not, you sit tight, keep melting folks with that appliance of yours, and pray to your gods that the other commanders are still out there. Understood?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood. My men and I will cover you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds decent! May the hand of the First Ones--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt her sentence receive early punctuation as a Second Legion shot vaporized Morrisson’s skull. She sat in stunned silence for a moment, this soldier she’d trained with dozens if not hundreds of times so suddenly gone. She knew she had to concentrate on the mission, however; there would be time for mourning later. Catra needed to get her ass to the church and find that radio operator. Kind of a little weird that a desolate world of pure industry like Ahriman would accommodate a place of worship, but whatever; its theological role mattered not now, its charred husk forming little more than another piece of cover amidst a sparse wasteland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once more the Lord Protector was sprinting out of cover and across No Man’s Land, the other members of Morrisson’s ragtag band seemingly doing their best to obey her final wishes and covering Catra’s advance. The church wasn’t much further, unmistakable with its burning wood-and-brick facade...or what was left of it, anyway. While she ran, a black-and-red clad Second Legion trooper tried to charge her with a bayonet, a rusty knife affixed to the barrel of a cheap civilian bolt-action. She heard them coming from miles away, but they still had the advantage of considerable momentum. The enemy soldier almost knocked her over, but she was quick; Catra ducked out of the way of the bayonet charge, and while the soldier was staggered she riposted them with her drawn sabre. The soldier was instead the one who ended up on the ground, leaving Catra with enough time to seize their dropped rifle. As she hoisted it, the soldier shouted something in Horde battle language that she translated in her head fluently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Please!” the soldier shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is for Morrisson, you bastard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra paid the enemy no heed and blasted a hole clean through their helmet, using their own rifle in an unintentional gesture of irony. The soldier’s mining visor, crudely modified to resemble Horde power armor, broke apart with a pneumatic hiss and one final, chilling scream. Catra searched the dead Second Legion insurgent for extra rifle ammunition, finding a handful of stripper clips and loose 7.62mm cartridges. The rifle would probably slow her down a bit and she typically abhorred carrying any long gun beyond a carbine, but the extra firepower couldn’t hurt. As much as Entrapta had crafted something very frighteningly lethal with Catra’s revolver, it didn’t have much range and she was on speed reloader number three of six. If this fight went on for much longer, she might’ve ran out of ammo assuming she didn’t have a backup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she got to the church, the barely-standing brick walls of the exterior gave way to giant piles of burning rubble in the interior. Perched on one corner of one such pile of rubble, overlooking a half-shattered window frame, were the remains of Catra’s command squad. She saw the familiar radio antennae of her operator’s backpack. Bounding up the charred bits of stone, wood and old pews was a bit of a battle in and of itself, but as always her cat reflexes prevailed. It seemed like everyone--the medic, the specialists, even the musician--from the command squad was gone now. She’d probably get assigned a new one, but Catra had still spent years training with these soldiers and it was sad to see them go. The radio operator was still moving, though she was bent at an angle that predominantly obscured her from Catra’s view. The radio set was still around, though, so Catra went for the receiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All Armoured units, this is the Lord Protector! My brigade is under heavy fire, we need to push through! Requesting immediate assistance!” Catra hollered into the crackling headset after dialing the right frequency in. There was no reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I repeat, this is the Lord Protector requesting armoured support! Do you copy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet again, there was no reply. Not right away, anyway. The headset emitted static followed by a high-pitched whine, and finally a voice came through. It was hard to make out the voice over the cacophony of battle, but Catra was honestly so relieved to hear it that it became the only noise she could concentrate on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Captain Huntara, 8th Crimson Rats. Standing by to provide armoured support. Over,” a rough-voiced woman rumbled through the receiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood, Captain. Standby for coordinates,” Catra responded, then proceeded to blurt out a long string of numbers and letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big 10-4, Lord Protector. ETA 15 minutes. See you in a few. Over,” Huntara confirmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sighed and hung up the receiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, there you go. You in there, Hicks?” Catra asked the still form of her radio operator. Her hopes weren’t exactly high that there would be any signs of life from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hicks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra turned Hicks’ body over and felt her stomach turn worse cartwheels than any night of drinking games with Scorpia. To say Hicks was gone was a massive understatement. She must’ve had a close call with a grenade or something, given her head and half her torso had detached. There was nothing left of those parts save some mangled guts and a half-shattered ribcage. Might’ve been the extra rum rations, the body itself or both, but Catra felt herself double over and retch. Cover or not, she had to get the hell out of this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So long, guys,” she managed to whimper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Protector threw herself through the wrecked window, tumbling and rolling as she collided with the snowy ground. From here, she could just barely make out the bunkers and trench lines of the enemy firebase, all ramshackle industrial habs and repurposed mining gear; Catra wouldn’t have been even slightly surprised if some of those fortifications had the arrow-D Dryl logo on them. The attack was progressing well enough if she’d managed to get this far, but the day wouldn’t be truly won until the entire brigade made the push. All she had to do was ensure some of the troops survived long enough for Armoured to roll in, and then they’d be able to stomp these Horde wannabes into the dirt. Assuming nobody domed her between now and the lapsation of 15 minutes, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she moved to regroup with some of the other companies that had made it this far, their distinct uniforms glowing lavender against the white, something hit her hard. It wasn’t a bayonet, thankfully, but it stung only slightly less. A bruiser of a Second Legion soldier, this one unarmoured and only wearing some hastily-redecorated orange industrial coveralls and a broken gas mask, slammed what must’ve been all of his body weight into the Lord Protector. In one hand he held a makeshift truncheon made of rebar, and he cracked it across Catra’s midsection in a crippling blow. She fell to the snow, staggered, figuring some clumsy and painful killing blow would come next. As the bruiser leered down at her, however, he suddenly writhed as a shrill beeping became apparent; a few heartbeats later, and he became a fountain of explosive, gory sludge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...Oh god, I didn’t think they were going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop </span>
  </em>
  <span>like that…” a familiar voice came from out of Catra’s view. In a second, Bow was standing over her with an outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, oh god, oh man...y-you okay, Catra?” Bow asked, voice still quivering, as she helped Catra to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good man, good man!” was all Catra responded with, giving Bow a congratulatory slap to the shoulder in spite of his glassy-eyed stare, “Yeah, never felt better. We’ve got our Storm Bulls incoming. Maybe then we’ll finally teach these fuckers a lesson.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-right,” Bow, still stunned, stammered as he and Catra took off to join the rest of the Royal Army’s advance, “So what’s the plan?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We hold the line until hell on wheels gets here. Easy peasy, nothin’ to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? There’s a baker’s dozen Emma Gs and howitzers between us and the Second Legion base, and at this rate we’ll--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I stutter? We </span>
  <em>
    <span>hold the fucking line!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right right right, cool cool cool, no doubt no doubt no doubt!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the two commanders approached the bulk of the infantry advance, a veritable human wall bristling with auto rifle fire, Catra heard the soldiers chanting something. It wasn’t any battlecry she recalled, whether from the proxy battles of the reformation or the motivational shouts of training. As they got closer, however, it became clearer. What she heard was more than a little alarming, though honestly she didn’t know why. It was only a matter of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Grayskull! Grayskull! Grayskull!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the doughboys cheered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her name is a killing word, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. Adora couldn’t be here to fight, but she was clearly here in every single Royal Army foot slogger’s heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heroic forces of Etheria’s finest made their stand then and there against the Second Legion mob, pushing so close yet so far to the enemy’s brutalist fortifications, until there came a roaring in the distance. It was like the wheels on a colossal, rusting metal train. It chugged and groaned and screeched until the source of the terrifying symphony emerged; a formation of Storm Bull battle tanks, bristling with enough firepower to turn this battle into a win. The Storm Bulls rolled through, a metal cloud of death, allowing the infantry to take cover behind their armoured hulls. The Second Legion’s firepower was substantial, but they lacked any equivalent heavy support to take the tanks down reliably. It proved enough to get Catra, Bow and the rest of the Royal Army into the enemy trench line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fought their way past dozens of industrial-garbed cronies. They were mostly armed with older-model frontier weapons--a mix of bolt-action and self-loading rifles--that were surprisingly destructive for their age and calibre. Catra eventually found herself in the inner workings of the Second Legion’s little ant farm, the trenches that led to the command bunker. Cut off the snake’s head, and the body will only follow. Everything was going smoothly until she got pinned down by a trooper with a light machine gun. Rounds were being cycled out at an ear splitting rate, and the supply crates the Lord Protector was using for cover were getting torn to shreds. Catra lay prone on the ground, figuring she’d sort of just sit there until the enemy ran out of ammo; eventually, they did. Well, at least that was what it looked like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra poked her head above the broken boxes, figuring she’d see the machine gun-toting palooka fumbling another cylindrical, dinner plate-shaped magazine into her weapon. Instead, the heavy gunner lay on the ground in an either dead or unconscious state. Standing over her body was another heavy hitter, and a scorpioni to boot; this mysterious saviour of Catra’s was wearing a tanker’s jacket, so she must’ve come in with Armoured. That’s when Catra noticed the tanker’s hair. Dead giveaway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Scorpia panted, looking over her shoulder at Catra, “Fancy meeting you here, wildcat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scorps! Am I glad to see you! What happened with Armoured? Thought you were with the Crimson Rats,” Catra inquired, running over to join her bro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. My tank got stuck in some mud and we couldn’t get it out. We just kinda climbed out and joined the brawl! Gotta say, it’s just like old times,” Scorpia smiled, though Catra shared almost none of her nostalgia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the rest of your crew at? I’m sure the backup would be awesome right about now,” Catra’s tone sounded almost excited for a moment at the thought of backup from some Crimson Waste road warriors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, they took off for the western dugouts. They’re probably making necklaces out of fingers over there or something. Scary guys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, we’ll go it alone. You’re pretty much a one-woman army on your own, bro.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, hey, you’re pretty badass too, bro! I guess I never needed that stupid tank anyway. The truth is...I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>the tank.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After today, Catra was kind of in need of one of Scorpia’s world-famous hugs with a side dish of one of her grade A pep talks. More than that, she missed Adora. She wished she could just leave behind all this cold and blood and let Adora tuck her into bed back at Station 9. The hardest parts of today were nearing their close, though. The end of the battle was in sight. If Catra could survive and win a single battle, she could damn well win a war. For her, for her friends, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adora. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them clawed their way through wave after wave of Second Legion defenders, the mottled terrorists defending their ground to the last man. The old bolt-action rifle Catra bummed off of the dead Second Legion goon was surprisingly effective, featuring good stopping power for such an antiquated weapon. Still, her sword and revolver were still the best fit for trench conditions and she found herself using them the most. The push went on until the carnage almost became a reflex, almost something the two were desensitized to, until they reached the command bunker. The thing was a hulking, half-buried dome of prefab metal and concrete; of course, it had a Dryl logo on it, scratched out and defaced with spray paint that simply read TRAITOR. Scorpia and Catra stacked up on either side of the entrance, and then Scorpia kicked the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The command bunker was deserted, the base’s officer class seemingly fully mustered. Charts, battle plans and documents were left haphazardly across the cheap, wiry metal table set up in the bunker’s centre. The solitary glo-globe dangling from the ceiling wiggled and shuttered as the gunfire and explosions outside rocked the bunker’s walls. It was a mess, to be sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ve made it, then?” a snide voice said from somewhere in the room. Catra hovered her hand above her gun, while Scorpia simply raised her pincers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A door opened and shut somewhere nearby in the bunker, and in mere moments a well-dressed officer emerged from the right. He wasn’t wearing the haphazard mining carapace or factory jumpsuits of the standard Second Legion rank-and-file; he had instead a red-and-black planetary defense force officer’s uniform. He had been one of theirs. It seemed the vitriol against the EPG ran so deep it had infected even its own upper echelons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Traitor,” Catra spat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer only laughed, looking incredibly pompous with his slicked-back dark hair in an artful coiff and his moustache waxed to a sharp point. This man hadn’t seen the frontlines in this whole engagement, maybe never. He was one of those officers who simply lurked behind the scenes sipping whiskey, never once doing any of the dirty work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this the best those Etherian swine could muster? I could defeat you with a laser pointer, pussycat,” he made an exaggerated face of shock, “Or perhaps I should just call you ‘cat’. I’ve seen those photos, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt her hand dance a little closer to her gun, fury simmering inside her. She saw the officer reach for his own weapon--some sort of short sabre, maybe closer to a cutlass--only he went the extra mile. He drew the blade, but rather than striking he simply passed the blade between his hands. The blade began to twirl and dance in his fists, the officer fiddling it around in a maddening number of flourishes. It was fancy. Pretty, even. Didn’t protect the guy from a well-placed flechette blast, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, what the?” Scorpia hollered, confused and aback as she snapped out of the now dead and bleeding officer’s hypnotic sway, “You shot the heck outta that guy! Why didn’t you show him some of your own sword moves? It would’ve been really cool, I bet!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have spent today slogging through muddy, blood-soaked slush, watching my friends get turned into </span>
  <em>
    <span>mulch </span>
  </em>
  <span>by these psychos. You’ll excuse me if I’m not in the mood for some kinda duel. ‘Sides, didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s a bad idea to bring a knife to a gunfight?” Catra growled almost exasperatedly, her revolver barrel still hot and smoking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, that’s...that’s fair. I’m sorry. His face was pretty goofy when you pulled your gun out, at least. It was like this,” Scorpia joked as she pulled a gratuitously shocked face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Guess it was,” Catra shouldn’t have laughed. Death, enemy or not, was never something funny. Yet she laughed anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two old ex-Horde comrades were interrupted by an easily-recognizable fellow in a red-dabbled cloak, arriving at the bunker door and then putting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Bow still looked like he’d seen some shit, to put it bluntly. That glassy stare from when he messily scored his first kill hadn’t vacated his face; it did, however, leave him looking rather vacant indeed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, guys. Just wanted to say the situation’s looking good. We’ve basically outnumbered the Second Legion three-to-one. They’re surrendering,” the combat engineer glanced at the dead officer behind Catra and Scorpia, “Looks like their CO is dusted, too. There’s still some pockets of resistance, but it looks like we won. Good job everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could’ve used your help back there, Bow. What took you so long?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had to fight some nutjob with a sword. All I had was a sharpened stick. Hey, a little tip, it’s surprisingly effective to just kick your opponent in the nuts when you’re sword fighting someone. Don’t ask me how I know that,” Bow huffed, still out of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the important thing is it’s over. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>won, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and we’re alive. I think that’s worth being proud of, guys,” Catra twirled her revolver on her finger, flourishing it with almost as much extravagance as the officer with his cutlass, before sliding it back into her holster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta say I love the gun spinning tricks, girl. Kinda reminds me of the movie </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robocop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s an Earth-That-Was classic,” Bow smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! I was about to say that! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robocop!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Scorpia added. She probably wasn’t quite as much of a film buff as Bow was, but she knew that one at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would anyone want to watch a movie about a rowboat cop? Y’know what, nevermind, I don’t wanna know. Look, cutesy pop culture nicknames are </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing. Drop the bit or there’s gonna be…” Catra suddenly drew a blank, having a tough time coming up with an apropos punishment for these two and their references, “...trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow and Scorpia snorted, both of them struggling to bite back their respective cackles. Catra was just totally oblivious to just why that line was coincidentally funny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it, what’s so funny?” Catra asked, frustrated, “Well? Your move, creeps.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, the scorpioni tanker and the arrow-toting engineer burst into barely-restrained snorts. Scorpia could barely contain herself at that point, actually letting out a bit of a giggle before grasping back at her composure. Oh, if only the Lord Protector knew. Her trivia knowledge was decent, decent enough that she always helped carry the table when it was trivia night at the pub back home, but evidently it overlooked some stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna tell her,” Scorpia snickered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare!” Bow blurted out between laughing fits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look guys, just stop or somewhere around here, there’s gonna be a crime happening,” Catra demanded, again further compounding the hilarity of the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia and Bow kept laughing, damn near rolling on the floor with it. Catra just stood there, mouth agape and brow furrowed, all the while not understanding a solitary smidgen of what just took place. They were all alive, though, and together on top of that. They’d survived the first real leg of their journey, and now they got to celebrate. In that sense, she was glad those dorks were having their odd moment of ridicule. In a way, it almost felt like home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hours passed, and the Royal Army soon claimed the Second Legion firebase in full. EPG flags were flying utop bunkers and parapets, Second Legion POWs were sorted and prepared for transport, and the equipment and ammunition within were redistributed amongst the Etherian doughboys. The command bunker was now Catra’s and the rest of the officer class, and it would probably end up getting some more inhabitants once Catra got her hands on a fresh command squad. The memories of the comrades she’d lost today stung, but the sacrifice they made was going to help catch Typhon for good. That alone meant their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. As the Lord Protector sat at the now neatly-cleaned table in the bunker’s central atrium, she thought that now would be a good time for a cigarette if she still smoked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on the door. Probably good timing, too. She didn’t want to tempt herself with more thoughts of smoking; she’d worked hard not to relapse this past year and a half. Maybe some ration coffee would work instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Catra shouted to the empty room, hoping she was audible to the person outside her door. The door swung open, revealing a Royal Army private still wearing her full combat dress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies, Lord Protector, is now a good time?” the doughboy--doughgirl?--asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As good a time as any, I guess. What’ve you got for me?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wanted to say the takeover’s going smoothly. Me an’ the other doughboys are right at home, and those weird Horde fanboys aren’t putting up much of a fuss. General Bow’s playing guitar for us, and Major General Scorpia’s on vocals. Even rigged up a little stage made of a broken tank tread. Wanna come join us? I got issued one of the good rations again, the ones with the fake pizza stuff. I-It’d be an honor to share with you, ma’am!” the giddy-voiced private blurted, voice all crackly from her helmet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Catra smiled wearily, “Lead the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The private waved Catra over, and the two of them headed back out into the trenches. The air was still a heavy miasma of decay and gunsmoke, but at least the battle was over now. It was a bit heartwarming for Catra to see her compatriots finding a way to enjoy revelry despite the grim scenery all around them. She knew this was all temporary, however. Maybe that was all the more reason to savour it while it lasted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We made it,” the private chirped, her voice full of joy, “I can’t believe we made it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We only just crossed the street,” Catra said without enthusiasm, not really feeling the love considering how insignificant this battle was truly going to be in the grand scheme. As the two of them moved out into the central dugout, however, and Catra saw the high-energy celebration her friends and fellow commanders were putting on, she felt a bit of a lift in her spirits for a moment, “I’m proud of us all, though.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Wolf's Lair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A compelling lead propels Catra and an elite Royal Army strike force to investigate the ostensible lair of Thaddeus Typhon. Adora and Catra learn both the gender of their baby, and give them a name. Things really, really go south. I'm not joking.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Just some brief fluff to explain a couple of terms used in this chapter: </p><p>The 'ripper gun' is a type of heavyweight assault rifle designed for usage by scorpioni troops, built of almost one solid piece of a near-unbreakable high-tech Dryl alloy with very few moving parts and a sizable trigger for easy use with giant claw hands. They are typically designed to fire "gyrojet" ammunition (explosive rounds) designed to compensate for the weapon's almost comically poor accuracy with a little additional splash damage, but there also exists a variant which instead fires solid slug rounds and a combat shotgun variant that instead fires buckshot at a semi-automatic rate (this one also has a bayonet and a slightly shorter barrel, as well as forgoing a stock). </p><p>'Mole rat' is a colloquial, derogatory term given to Second Legion troops by the EPG, taken from the common pre-war occupation that most Second Legion terrorists had: miners. The term has become somewhat common in propaganda. A close historical parallel would be "the Hun", "Jerry", "Fritz", etc. from World War 1, in reference to the German army by the Entente Powers. </p><p>Enjoy getting your heart torn out you sadistic fucks, </p><p>S_L_H</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11: Wolf’s Lair<br/>
They fought their way across chilling tundras, lava-pockmarked volcanic ridges and beachheads of dark sand. They made their bases amongst hot springs, cavernous formations, and frozen lakes. The push went on and on and on, and somehow the Super Bro Trio stood firm for all of it. Eventually, the bloody trek paid off. The final push was in sight. The offensive was coming to a close faster than the two years Queen Glimmer predicted, with the conflict’s end thankfully in sight after only a few months. Catra just might get home to be there when her and Adora’s baby was born. It wasn’t over yet, though.<br/>
Catra sat out front by her command tent, sipping from a tin cup of ration-issue instant coffee mixed with a pouch of chocolate protein powder. It wasn’t the best, but it kept her awake and sharp amidst Ahriman’s lopsided, twenty-hour nights. She’d traded Reyes--field promoted to a sergeant after a bloody skirmish in a factory city--for the powder, giving away her ration of cigarettes before they could tempt her further. In the mess tent across from her, Bow and Scorpia were entertaining the foot sloggers with more of their singing-and-guitar duets. If Catra figured out a way to sing while also sober, maybe they could start a band. That wasn’t a project for today, though. No, today she’d be spending her recreational time handling another, more important matter.<br/>
The last time Catra had had the free time to give Adora a call, she’d mentioned that she was making an appointment to find out the baby’s gender. Gender readings were no longer the primitive, sex-based things they were on Earth-That-Was; they were usually performed by both a doctor and a mage, working in tandem to draw some predictions about the baby’s true gender identity. Even this wasn’t a perfect system, as identity was sometimes as fluid as a rapid river, but it was right 9 times out of 10 at least. By now, the appointment may have come to pass, and Catra was almost irrationally excited. Every development around the kid was a cause for hype, and with the war seemingly almost at its end the joy was just all the more sweet.<br/>
Catra headed back into her tent, picked up her communicator from her desk, and slumped back in her chair. She went to work tapping the video chat option under Adora’s contact, praying she’d pick up. Usually she did, given there didn’t seem to be much going on at Bright Moon castle save for chilling with Glimmer. There had been days where she was down with morning sickness or having check-ups where she couldn’t call, but Catra didn’t mind. Any time she got with Adora was enough time for her, and every time she got to call it gave her renewed strength to fight on. There were quite a few rings from the communicator, and for a while Catra had just about given up, but then Adora answered and the Lord Protector practically fell out of her chair with excitement.<br/>
“Hey, Adora!” Catra practically shouted at Adora’s slightly fuzzy image on the communicator, barely able to contain her excitement.<br/>
“Whoa, hi!” Adora replied.<br/>
“What’s the ‘whoa’ about?” Catra asked.<br/>
“I dunno, you just usually deliver the line in a way that’s more...deadpan, I guess?” Adora tried to articulate.<br/>
“What can I say? I’m happy to see you. And also maybe a bit excited about the results of a certain appointment…”<br/>
“Oh, right, the gender thing,” Adora paused, picked some sort of food thing up, and nibbled it. It looked like a slice of pizza with small yellowish wedges on it. “Yeah, that happened! I’m pretty excited to break the news too! Treated myself to a little something, as you can see!”<br/>
“Adora, are you...eating more pineapple pizza?”<br/>
Adora blanched, suddenly looking like a deer in headlights. Immediately she moved the pizza out of shot.<br/>
"No," she blurted out, mouth still full.<br/>
There was the sound of a door opening somewhere that was also out of shot, presumably just at the entrance to Adora's room. Whoever was coming through that door made their entrance rather messily, the door slapping against the wall. Must've had some stuff in their hands.<br/>
"Adora, hi! I brought more pineapple pizza!" Glimmer called from offscreen.<br/>
"Oh, Glimmer, that's great…" Adora smiled with tight lips, knowing she'd been caught red handed, "...You can, uh, just put it there I guess."<br/>
Catra laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. When she caught her breath, she looked back at the screen.<br/>
"Oh man, are you serious?" She asked, almost still laughing, "Wow. You are an idiot."<br/>
"Is that Catra? She's calling?" Glimmer moved her head into shot, just barely poking in, “Hi Catra! Good luck on your big mission today!”<br/>
“Thanks, Sparkles. Hard to believe we’ll be coming home soon if this goes well,” Catra smiled. She was incredibly thankful that the end was in sight, that Typhon would be dealt with one way or another and she’d be home with Adora and the baby soon enough.<br/>
“I’ll leave you two alone...or should I say three now? Anyway, have a nice call!” the Queen chirped as she left the shot yet again, along with the room seemingly.<br/>
As she heard the door shut, Catra couldn’t help but burst into laughter again. She saw Adora put the pizza down, embarrassed. The Princess looked a little frustrated, but mostly she seemed to be taking the ribbing in stride. She might’ve let out a slight giggle, but Catra was being so raucous that it was drowned out.<br/>
“Oh, geez...knew you’d come around, babe. You realize, of course, that I am never gonna let you live this down,” Catra teased, quieting down and looking back at the communicator screen.<br/>
“Ugh, shut up! This isn’t on me, it’s on your weird kid!” Adora hissed, not truly irritated but mostly just playing along with the general snarkiness.<br/>
“They’re your weird kid too, y’know,” Catra pointed out.<br/>
“Yeah, they are. Doesn’t mean I approve of their taste in pizza, though,” Adora rolled her eyes and begrudgingly went for another bite, then got an excited gleam in her eyes, “Anyway, back on topic here and speaking of our kid...the doctors told me we’re having a baby boy. A son.”<br/>
A son? Well, that sounded excellent to Catra. Really, any answer would’ve been amazing. Catra didn’t have a preference for who the kid would be; boy, girl, anything in between, she was going to love them no matter what. She would get home from this cursed rock of blood and despair and treasure every moment with Adora and their boy. She planned on being the mother she needed as a kid, to love and support her son in whatever he did while giving him a safe home. There wasn’t anything like that back in the Horde, only cold and sterile corridors and the labs of a certain diabolical, transphobic alchemist.<br/>
“A son? I--wow, oh my god. That’s amazing, Adora,” Catra said, still a little surprised and giddy.<br/>
“Did you have a preference?” Adora asked.<br/>
“No, not at all. It’s still pretty cool knowing, though.”<br/>
“I completely agree! And if that hasn’t successfully gotten your attention, I’ve got more to tell you.”<br/>
“Lay it on me, babe.”<br/>
“Well, I was going over that list of names you sent me…”<br/>
“The one Bow made? Yeah, there are some winners on there. Kinda not feeling ‘Fuzzyface’ or ‘Mittens’ as names, though. Like, we would just be setting the poor guy up to get bullied.”<br/>
“Okay, okay, good, we’re on the same page about those. Anyway, I’ve been picking through it, and after some very slight colossal, panicked indecision, what do you think about the name--wait for it, drumroll please--Harper?”<br/>
Harper. Hmm. Why did Catra find that name vaguely familiar? It seemed to betray a feeling of comfort, some sort of odd trust and respect she hadn’t felt in ages. She’d been exposed, taunted, literally dragged through mud, yet Harper offered up some vague memory of mutual respect, privacy, security. There was understanding in it that Catra hadn’t felt in ages. It was brilliant, though she didn’t know exactly who or what the name honored and why it carried such connotations for her.<br/>
“Get it? Har-purr? Because he’s half cat,” Adora jokingly explained, clearly not thinking about the name as much as Catra was.<br/>
“Oh, that’s cute,” Catra laughed dryly, trying not to overthink why the name gave her warm fuzzies, “It’s perfect, Adora. Harper. Our little boy. God, this is…”<br/>
“Are you crying?” Adora asked.<br/>
“No, no, shut up, it’s just,” Catra sniffed, feeling a tear well up in her eye from sheer joy, “Just ashes or something. From the volcanoes. Yeah. I’m not crying, you’re crying.”<br/>
“Okay, if you say so. It’s okay, I’ve gotten some ‘ashes’ in my eyes too when I think about this. It’s pretty amazing, honey,” Adora laughed, playing along with Catra’s denial.<br/>
Catra was honestly so overjoyed she felt faint. Her borderline dreamlike revelry was suddenly disrupted by a rustling outside her tent. She gingerly danced her hand about her holster, yet upon locating the source of the noise she let her hand relax. It was only Scorpia, smiling awkwardly at the seeming realization that she was interrupting something.<br/>
“Hi! Sorry to disturb, I was just gonna say briefing’s about to start. That cool?” Scorpia asked.<br/>
“Oh, uh, yeah, ‘course. Lemme just wrap up here,” Catra said.<br/>
“No prob. Tell Adora I said hi,” Scorpia waved her claw in approval. Couldn’t easily do a thumbs up with those.<br/>
“I’ll tell Adora and Harper,” Catra smiled in a way that probably betrayed her hype in full.<br/>
“Harper? Who’s--oh! You picked out a name! Congrats! Awesome name, by the way,” Scorpia sounded almost as excited as Catra was, which was very typical of her, “Alright. See you in a few.”<br/>
Scorpia turned to leave, while Catra looked back at her communicator. Parting with Adora for now was going to be the most bittersweet of experiences, but at least now Catra had a greater reminder of what she was fighting to protect. She’d finish the fight for Adora, for Harper, for every EPG citizen.<br/>
“Time to go?” Adora asked.<br/>
“‘Fraid so, babe,” Catra sighed.<br/>
“It’s okay. You said things are starting to quiet down on the front?”<br/>
“Hard to say, but it’s looking more and more likely.”<br/>
“Okay, that’s good. Just keep your head up, and you’ll be home with me before you know it,” Adora tried to sound optimistic, though Catra knew it was hard with this many variables in play, “You’ll be home with Harper, too. God, it feels weird saying that.”<br/>
“I bet it will for a while. Kinda feels weird hearing it, too. Holy shit, Adora. We’re gonna have a goddamn son,” Catra laughed into her hands in aghast disbelief, then got back to the matters at hand, “I’ll see you soon, Adora. I’ll be home in one piece, I promise. We all will. And I’ll win this thing for you, me, and him.”<br/>
“Damn right you are. You’re Catra. You don’t quit until the fight’s won. Good luck, honey. Me and the little guy are cheering for you,” Adora smiled and waved with warmth apparent even through the tiny screen, tears starting to form in her eyes.<br/>
“Thanks, you two. Bye for now,” Catra felt her own tears start to sting at her as she hung up. Crying and laughing all at once now, she centred herself with a deep breath and headed for the command tent. </p><p>“Alright, boys. Drop your cocks and grab your socks. This is it. The one we gotta make count,” Catra ordered as she overlooked the camp’s war table, trying to get the other commanders’ attention.<br/>
The team for what was ostensibly the final push--a covert mission to either apprehend or assassinate Colonel Typhon, depending on how things went--was gathered in the great, off-white command tent. At the back, a recon unit who were going to provide sniper overwatch were having a smoke. Their squad sergeant looked vaguely familiar to Catra, but she couldn’t really figure out why. Besides those fellows and a handful of command squad veterans, the war table was lined by the usual suspects. There was Bow, Scorpia, Catra herself and Sea Hawk...wait, Sea Hawk?<br/>
“Who invited Man on Fire?” Catra asked.<br/>
“Major General Gaunt and the 13th took a beating on the Eastern Front. Last I heard they got rerouted to the Nemesis Front until they’re full strength again,” Bow explained, “Until then, Sea Hawk’s filling in.”<br/>
“What ho, Lord Protector! Fret not! My Royal Marines are top hole, and they shall be here to bail you out of any sticky situation!” Sea Hawk did a flamboyant bow, always his usual self.<br/>
“Right...Anyway, if this plan works, Colonel Thaddeus Typhon--alias The Martyr--will either get sent back to Etheria in a prison jumpsuit or a bodybag. Either way, the war ends,” Catra started. “Acting on recently-recovered intel, recon’s tracked Typhon to a safehouse just a few miles north of our current firebase. The plan is to make our way there, infiltrate it, and kill or capture the son of a bitch. I don’t care what you do to take him down. Dead or alive, he’s coming with me.”<br/>
Scorpia and Bow started snorting to themselves for some reason, like they were holding in a laugh. Catra had no idea why. Must’ve been some weird in-joke, maybe related to that bit they did about the police officer for rowboats. Catra just shrugged and ignored it.<br/>
“This won’t be like the other firefights we’ve had in this war. No attrition, no charges, no tanks or air support or artillery. It’ll be more like a trench raid, with our respective command squads and these talented scouts from 1st Recon acting as our raiding party. Essentially, this is going to be a sneaking mission that’ll take place in two phases. In phase one, Scorpia and I will make the frontal approach and eliminate any outer defenses through surprise attacks, while Bow and…” she stopped and groaned, “...Sea Hawk, I guess, will do the same for the rear. Once the parameter is secure, our command squads will get the signal to move in, where they’ll infiltrate the compound and quickly eliminate any remaining security. Somewhere in there we deal with Typhon, and bingo bongo, no more Second Legion. Any questions?”<br/>
Sea Hawk raised his gloved hand eagerly.<br/>
“Yeah, Man on Fire?” Catra pointed to the Royal Marine commander.<br/>
“May I suggest the usage of a flamethrower during this offensive?” Sea Hawk requested.<br/>
“Wha--no. Absolutely fucking not. You can’t use a flamethrower. What part of stealth mission do you not understand?”<br/>
“Perhaps a sort of clever flamethrower suppressor shall be helpful! I will have schematics on your desk with haste!”<br/>
“Dude, it’s a hose that shoots fire. I’m not a scientist, but I think a ‘flamethrower suppressor’ is physically impossible. No. Final answer. Bring your service rifle and a couple of molotov cocktails if you absolutely need to burn something.”<br/>
“Ooh! Molotovs! That is also adequate!” the fire-loving General raised his fists to the air, “Molotov cocktail adventure!”<br/>
“Yeah yeah yeah, go crazy. Any other questions?” Catra asked the others.<br/>
Bow raised his hand next.<br/>
“Yeah, man?” Catra pointed to him.<br/>
“I think I could theoretically build Sea Hawk a flamethrower suppressor--” Bow started.<br/>
“Yes! Fantastic!” Sea Hawk suddenly cheered.<br/>
“Wait, let me finish. It would probably take at least two to three days to develop, though, and we’re moving on Typhon’s compound tonight, so...sorry, Sea Hawk,” Bow explained awkwardly.<br/>
"No!" Sea Hawk fell to his knees and threw his hands into the air, forlorn and defeated.<br/>
"Yes, how unfortunate…" Catra groaned sarcastically, "Moving on here, I'm counting on you folks to get this done. We've all come so far. We can't die now. Dismissed. Get yourselves kitted out, too, because we leave in five."<br/>
The meeting dissolved, and as it did Catra felt her fur prickle with anxiety. This was going to be a pivotal moment in one way or another, and Catra intended to ensure it worked out in her favour. For her, for her girlfriend, for her soon-to-be-born infant son, she would finish this. She would do more than finish it, she would win it. That was a promise, a goddamn guarantee. </p><p>The one advantage of Ahriman’s hellish nighttimes was that surprise attacks were trivially easy to plan. There were honestly quite a few instances where the war had ceased to be a war of grand battles and became a constant series of trench raids. The most daring members of either side would strike out into No Man’s Land under the cover of darkness and fight tooth and nail against the foe with savage close combat weapons. It was a terrifying experience to behold, and the resulting anxiety and sleep deprivation only furthered the psychological stress and horror. It was almost as bad as rucking through a frozen forest with only Scorpia as company.<br/>
“What’s up with the bullet?” Catra asked, noticing that Scorpia had plucked a gyrojet cartridge from her ripper gun’s bandolier and was scratching it with her claws.<br/>
“You’ll love this, it’s genius! Okay, okay, so you know how sometimes people talk about ‘a bullet with your name on it’?” Scorpia asked in turn, invoking the age-old adage.<br/>
“Yeah,” Catra grumbled, slightly more angsty than usual.<br/>
“Well, I figured if I had the bullet, no one could shoot me!” Scorpia exclaimed, smiling widely as if waiting for the bit to land. It never did.<br/>
“What a shame. Would you keep it down? Sneaking mission, remember?” Catra hissed.<br/>
“Right right, bro. Stealth mode. You okay?” Scorpia was getting some mixed signals from her friend.<br/>
“I’m fine. This is a big mission, and the sooner we get it over with the better. Capisce?” Catra explained, still sounding severe.<br/>
“Right!” Scorpia saluted with her claw, managing to continue hefting her massive ripper gun with ease in only one arm.<br/>
Something seemed a little weird about Catra. Obviously, Scorpia conceded the point that this mission was a scary one. The prized pig of the Second Legion was either about to die or get them killed. Yet Catra usually did a decent job at managing her stress and keeping her cool amidst the chaos of warfare. Something was throwing her off her rhythm. It couldn’t have been Adora related, given the good news she’d gotten about the baby and whatnot. Then again, getting the good news while also staring down death might’ve been cause for tension.<br/>
“You sure you’re okay? You know you can always tell me, bro,” Scorpia assured the Lord Protector.<br/>
“Yes, I said I’m fine! Would you please just keep it down and concentrate on hauling ass!” Catra ordered. Something about her demeanor was definitely off.<br/>
“Mmm, I dunno. Is this an Adora thing? Something about baby Harper? Because if it is, I totally understand and--” Scorpia was cut off by more of Catra’s ranting, feeling some unhappy memories resurface but knowing full well that she wasn’t that person anymore. Something was just wrong.<br/>
“No! Nothing is wrong! It’s just that this mission is like a do-or-die moment for us and if you keep yapping, some mole rat is gonna hop out from behind one of these trees and dust us! I’d rather that didn’t happen, y’see! Just keep your eyes forward! We’re almost there! That is a direct order!” Catra barked, still trying to keep her voice somewhat quiet.<br/>
Something was definitely up with Catra, and Scorpia could say it with certainty; they were best friends, of course. The Lord Protector was wearing a permanent wince, her gait was not its usual graceful self, and her hands were constantly twitching and fidgeting. Something about those mannerisms seemed weirdly familiar to the scorpioni General, like she knew what this all meant. She thought about it for a second, and found herself vaguely recalling memories of pub crawls and shooting back drinks; still, how did it all fit together? She then noticed Catra slip a hand between her thighs briefly, and then she suddenly got it. When the realization hit her, she almost had to hold in a laugh.<br/>
It looked like all that ration coffee was back to say hello.<br/>
“Wait, you need to pee, don’t you?” Scorpia asked.<br/>
Catra turned beet red, then looked at Scorpia with the kind of death stare she was usually seen reserving for the enemy. She stormed over to her scorpioni pal, looking somewhere between flustered and furious.<br/>
“What? The fact you think it would ever be okay to ask a superior officer a frankly humiliating and ridiculous question like that is a little disturbing, Scorpia. Even if I am your bro. Shut your yap,” Catra growled, face still quite red. Her voice sounded very, very strongly as if it were designed to be a facade.<br/>
“I mean, I’m not hearing a no,” Scorpia laughed.<br/>
“No! I do not! There, you happy? Let’s just get moving!”<br/>
“Ah, right. Well, I guess you won’t mind that it looks like we’re heading towards a stream, then.”<br/>
“What? I--What? What stream?”<br/>
“Yeah, a stream! Over that way! Could be any running water, really. A stream, a creek, a river, one of those, y’know?”<br/>
“There is nothing--”<br/>
“Ooh, and it looks like the stream is flowing into a waterfall at the end there! That’s pretty cool! Who knew this planet was so scenic?”<br/>
“Shut up!”<br/>
“Damn, that is one beaut of a waterfall! Just rushing downwards like that, maybe heading to more water somewhere, so much of it flowing into one place--”<br/>
It was at this moment that Catra finally cracked.<br/>
“Gah! Fine! You got me! I gotta piss, okay? Fuck…” the Lord Protector practically shouted, still red with embarrassment.<br/>
“Haha! Knew it! Well, there's some trees here, there and, uh, everywhere you can go behind. I'll cover you," Scorpia smiled, a bit humored by Catra’s overt embarrassment. There wasn’t really anything to get worked up over; it could’ve happened to anyone.<br/>
“Right. Okay, thanks. You’re never gonna speak of this again, and if you look I will fucking kill you,” Catra ordered as she headed for some dense foliage on their right.<br/>
“No problemo! Bros respect other bros’ privacy when they’re taking a whiz,” Scorpia reassured her friend.<br/>
“Thanks,” Catra muttered, still a bit shamefaced.<br/>
Catra hid herself between two fairly thick conifers, the typical resilient vegetation of this bizarre hellhole of a planet. She undid her belt and pants, rested one arm on the tree she faced and relieved herself. Once she was done, she hurriedly zipped herself back up and headed back to Scorpia as fast as she could. The last thing she wanted was to have some mole rat pull a gun on her while she had her fly undone. Scorpia was right where she left her, ripper at the ready and eyes bolted forward.<br/>
“Alright, nothin’ in the tank. Let’s get moving,” Catra sighed.<br/>
“Quiet. Get over here,” Scorpia shushed Catra, then waved her over. She looked white as a sheet.<br/>
“Uh…” Catra droned, confused.<br/>
“Heard something,” Scorpia whispered, deadly serious, “Someone’s coming.”<br/>
“You sure it wasn’t me?” Catra asked.<br/>
“Just get over here. I don’t want you getting hurt.”<br/>
“Whoa, okay.”<br/>
Catra ran over to the scorpioni General, standing close to her side with her revolver at the ready. In the corner of her eye, Catra could see two shadowy shapes moving among the trees. Two other travellers of the night, coming in from the right side of the forest. Judging by their silhouettes, they were almost definitely wearing modified mining equipment. Second Legion mole rats.<br/>
“Contacts! Get down!” Scorpia spat, tone still hushed as best she could.<br/>
The two of them hit the deck, falling to the forest floor and almost eating a mouthful of mulch. The mole rat bastards inched closer, not enough to justify an attack but enough to elicit prickles of nervousness in both EPG commanders. Both of them were wearing the usual black and red hazard armor, brandishing old Horde submachine guns. Typhon had been saving the good stuff for his personal detail, that much seemed apparent; most of the other mole rats had been fighting with cheap civilian weapons and even industrial nail or rivet guns. The two assailants were chatting to themselves in Horde battle language, and Catra picked up on it with ease. She spoke the old tongue well, with skill she herself wished she could forget already. Wasn’t without its uses, though.<br/>
“The Colonel’s nuts. Even I would think twice about attacking an enemy stronghold with defenses like ours. There’s no one here,” one mole rat snapped.<br/>
“Yeah, I gathered that. Keeps muttering to himself about his father and making him proud or something. Sounds like the old geezer’s got some major daddy issues,” the other mole rat chuckled.<br/>
“Looks that way. Also, is it me or does his skin kinda...I dunno, flicker? Y’know, like a hologram?”<br/>
“Nah, I think that’s a bit too out there, Gus.”<br/>
“Well, I haven’t slept in days, so that might be part of it! I miss sleeping in a proper bed, even if it was basically a prison cot...and pie! Guys from Dryl used to give us a slice of pie on our lunch trays on sundays! None of that in the glorious revolution. The Colonel has the launch codes, why doesn’t he just glass Bright Moon and get it over with? War sucks. I wanna go home.”<br/>
“I told you already, Gus. He’s not after atomics. He wants something called, uh, Han-Tyumi or some shit.”<br/>
I can’t be hearing that right, Catra thought, That could only mean...oh no.<br/>
“What a drama queen. Just nuke the fuckers, I say,” the grumpy mole rat, identified as Gus, paused for a minute, “Hey, does it smell funny over here to you?”<br/>
“I dunno. What’re you smelling?” Gus’ compatriot asked.<br/>
“Hmm. Hard to say. It’s like…” Gus sniffed, “Like piss mixed with bad coffee, I guess.”<br/>
“Well, maybe one of those namby-pamby Etherian jagoffs was sitting out here havin’ some fru-fru vanilla cappa-whatever you wanna call it, planning a surprise attack. Maybe he heard us coming, got a little too scared, and turned tail. That’s how badass us Second Legion boys are. They call us ‘mole rats’, but really they’re nothing but a bunch of gutless pussies.”<br/>
“Confidence like this is why I married you, Lars.”<br/>
“Don’t I know it, cutie. Let’s report back to base. I think it’s safe to say this sector’s clear.”<br/>
The two soldiers turned around, heading back towards Typhon’s compound. Once the duo were mere blobs on the horizon, Catra and Scorpia stood back up and breathed a little easier knowing they hadn’t been detected. Both of them looked to each other with eyes filled with utter panic.<br/>
“Did he say--” Scorpia started.<br/>
“Yep. I’d know Han-Tyumi anywhere. Fuck...If Typhon finds that, I think it’s safe to say we’re all screwed forty-two ways from sunday,” Catra said grimly.<br/>
“You think that thing is real? I’ve only heard the stories, but…”<br/>
“Oh, it’s real. When Horde Prime chipped me, I saw a lot of things. Dude was practically getting his dick hard over that stupid goo bomb. I didn’t know he actually built one, though,” Catra felt chills as she thought back to that awful memory, that horrid violation she wished she could just wipe from her brain, “All the more reason to put Typhon in the ground. Let’s move out.”<br/>
“Or take him alive, right?” Scorpia asked.<br/>
“No. Things have changed. I’m gonna kill him,” Catra growled, voice shaking with heavy breath, “I’m gonna kill every last one of ‘em.”<br/>
Catra’s mind went numb. She just kept marching forward, heading in the direction of the compound until it went from a tiny blip in the distance to an ominous tower of industrial brutalist architecture. The outside was surprisingly barren. Maybe the worst of Typhon’s alleged defenses were inside. Catra and Scorpia crouched close to ground. Even without any visible security, they didn’t want to risk being spotted.<br/>
“Bow? Sea Hawk? Just letting you know I have eyes on Typhon’s compound. You fellas in position?” Catra asked into her communicator. It was amazing that these things could be endless suckholes of clickbait articles, social media and games while also acting as a decent secure communication channel.<br/>
“Catra, hey! Good to hear from you! Yep, everything’s good. Support squads and overwatch are lined up, too. We’re just waiting on you,” Bow crackled over the communicator.<br/>
“Alright, move in. Do you have eyes on Typhon?” Catra checked.<br/>
“Hell yeah. One ugly motherfucker, that’s for sure. Dude looks like weird microwaved gray raisin. He’s on the second floor, in the room with...nothing in it except a chair, apparently. Weird,” Bow explained, cursing in an exceedingly uncharacteristic move. He usually hated all profanity.<br/>
“Yeah, well, he’s crazy, so...unfurnished room. Why not, right?” Catra asked, almost rhetorically, “Moving to engage. See you on the other side.”<br/>
“May the hand of the First Ones--” Bow started the hopeful farewell refrain, only to be rudely interrupted.<br/>
“Yeah yeah yeah, shut up and let’s get this over with,” Catra spat, feeling that every second she didn’t have her claws digging into Typhon’s neck was wasted. If that old bag of bones was that careless with atomics, imagine what he could do with something like Han-Tyumi.<br/>
The first few minutes of storming the safehouse went fairly smoothly. Catra and Scorpia stacked up on the door and nudged it open after Scorpia smashed the lock. Scorpioni claws made for superb bolt cutters. Obviously, revolvers and ripper guns were a bit too boisterous for getting the jump on people, so the two commanders made use of a combination of sneaking, melee, and contact with the sniper team. Whoever that guy leading them was, he was good, a real crack shot; something about him still seemed vaguely recognizable to Catra, but she assumed it was just random deja vu. Everything went swimmingly until they got to the second floor. The two were hiding behind a table, mere feet away from Typhon’s safe room, when Scorpia accidentally nudged the table with one of her huge shoulders and knocked a bottle to the floor.<br/>
“Dude, seriously?” Catra hissed through clenched teeth.<br/>
“Sorry…” Scorpia apologized profusely.<br/>
Panicked guards scrambled to locate the source of the noise, guns at the ready. A firefight was all but definite. Luckily, the support teams were probably already on their way over. Going loud was an inevitability. Victory was in sight at this point. Typhon was dangerous when he had an army at his command, but on his own he was just a sick old man. Catra could probably take him down, here and now.<br/>
“Just go,” Scorpia checked the belt on her ripper to make sure it was racked, “I’ll cover you!”<br/>
“You got this?” Catra asked, hearing the first enemy shot whiz past.<br/>
“Didn’t call me ‘Bucket of Guts’ in the reformations for nothing. Think I can handle it,” Scorpia cocked the giant cannon with her claws.<br/>
"Alright," Catra nodded solemnly, drawing her revolver, "Good luck, bro."<br/>
"Make us proud, wildcat. Give that bastard hell. Do it for Harper," Scorpia smiled, her face suddenly turning into a war face as she hoisted her ripper up and opened fire on the oncoming mole rats.<br/>
The covering fire would be enough, but Catra still had a hallway crawling with mole rats to cross. She managed to fire off three shots at the mob of security blocking the way, one for each of them. The shots didn’t connect, but it soon didn’t matter. Something round broke through a window, combusting messily and engulfing the mole rats in flame.<br/>
“I love the smell of burnt stuff in the morning!” a familiar, flamboyant voice shouted outside, “Er, evening. Adventure!”<br/>
Thanks for the assist, you crazy son of a bitch, Catra thought to herself. Getting a hand from Sea Hawk, as if life these days couldn’t get any more strange.<br/>
The hallway was now a mess of burning debris and petrol, but luckily the industrial concrete didn’t seem terribly flammable. Most of the furniture in the other rooms had been metal with some odd wooden bits, but the fire wasn’t really spreading. It congealed around the torched mole rat corpses, sending dirty flames sputtering and slowly dying across a slight berth. Catra dodged around it with her usual grace and made her way to the door. This was it, the moment of truth. How would she get revenge for Tannhauser best, she wondered? The revolver, the sword, her bare hands, maybe some conveniently placed nearby farming equipment? She kicked in the door, still indecisive about just which method would be best for the coup de grace.<br/>
As it turned out, the answer was none of the above. Typhon’s room was unfurnished, undecorated...and unoccupied. Catra looked around in a panic, gazing at the four brown-gray walls in total disbelief. This had to be a mistake. He had to be hiding somewhere. She was about to move to look for any hidden compartments or panic rooms, maybe some sort of clever concrete-colored sliding bookcase, but she didn’t get the chance to. Something consumed the room in light, followed by an awful, earsplitting bang. Pretty soon, she heard the sound of stomping feet followed by fists slugging across her face and gut again and again. When the light cleared and she managed to regain some of her senses, fighting through the dizziness and the awful throbbing pain, she found the only other Ghost of Tannhauser looking down at her.<br/>
“Phenomenal! You know, when I set this trap, I had high hopes, but I’ll be honest...I didn’t think you’d actually come, my dear,” Thaddeus Typhon, looking far too well taken care of for a corpse with his neat hair and tidy uniform, sneered down at Catra’s crumpled, restrained form, “Bring in the other one! The marksman!”<br/>
Typhon waved a hand to one of his bodyguards--presumably the same men who’d just hit Catra with a stun grenade and then beat the snot out of her--to come forward. They were at the back of the room, obscured save for the dim light coming through the windows, but they had someone with them. They were restrained, just like Catra was; her assailants had her on the ground, grabbing her by the wrists while a boot heel dug into her back, while the other person seemed to just have their hands behind their back. As the bodyguard emerged from the darkness of the corner, their captive was revealed. It was Bow.<br/>
“Catra...Catra, I’m sorry,” he lamented.<br/>
“Did you--” Catra started.<br/>
“Talk? No. They jumped me out of nowhere. I dunno how much of our forces are compromised, but...well, they caught up with us, that’s for sure,” Bow whimpered, “But I didn’t talk, no. I’d never sell you out. Not now, not in a million years. That’s what the tri-bro does, am I right?”<br/>
Catra smiled warmly. The wordplay was unbearably cheese-tastic and not in a fun way, but she didn’t mind. Right now, it was just a little levity amongst a situation that was very, very bad. That was all that counted.<br/>
“‘Course, Robin Hood. Tri-bro to the end,” she assured him.<br/>
“Darn right, Robocop,” Bow laughed weakly, only to take a hard shove to his back from his displeased jailer.<br/>
“Sorry to spoil your little reunion, folks. I’m very short on time these days, so let’s keep this concise, shall we?” Typhon kneeled, coming to eye level with Catra, “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Catra? You saw me out here and just had to try to put me in the dirt? Are you perhaps still jealous of my glory, my repertoire with our once-great nation?”<br/>
“Jealous? What would I be jealous of? You dropped nukes on civilians, you fucking monster. Three high-yield atomics fired smack-dab into the Tannhauser Gate because you just couldn’t stand to give an inch of ground! That was, what, a couple million relocating refugees thinking they’d be getting a new Station at the end of it all? And you...you just killed them because that stupid old fort was so precious to you. Believe me pal, I’m not gonna kill you because I’m jealous. I’m gonna do it for all those poor folks you burned over a goddamn pile of bricks,” Catra howled, disregarding the growing pressure and pain on her spine.<br/>
“How quaint. I’m a monster for, what, fighting war? How many men have you killed, Catra? Just today? That shall give you plenty of space to disregard your own collateral damage, I’m sure. Let’s not forget that your own EPG has used the power of the atom a few times as well, and those so-called bandits all had lives and families,” Typhon looked away, drawing a heavy pistol from the folds of his overcoat and cocking it, “It matters not. What matters is that you, my dear, are about to stop being a pain in my ass.”<br/>
“So that’s your plan? Just shoot me now?” Catra asked.<br/>
“Were you expecting something more elegant? A hero’s death? No. This is war. This is reality. Death is not beautiful, it is messy and undignified and grotesque. Yet death is also a necessary evil in the name of rebuilding my empire, and yours is most certainly very necessary. Before you meet your fate, however, I have but one question for you,” Typhon levelled his sidearm with Catra’s head, “Where is she? Where is the False Princess?”<br/>
“What, you wanted the two for one deal? Like hell I’d ever let you hurt her,” Catra snarled.<br/>
“It’s a simple question, Catra. I thought considering the liaisons between the two of you, you might know. Unless, of course, she was...oh, I don’t know...using you as some momentary curiosity? We would have never done that to you in the Horde, you know. All are family in the light.”<br/>
“If this is supposed to get to me, you’re doing a really bad job. Well, I dunno. Maybe if I tell you the truth, it’ll blow on whatever spark of decency you might have left. Yeah, sure, I’ll tell you,” Catra sighed, “Adora’s pregnant, Thaddeus. The kid’s mine. I just learned that we’re having a baby boy, and I...shit, I just wanna go home. You want the planet? Take it. Money? It can be arranged. Just please let me go home. I don’t care about anything anymore ‘cept being able to just hold my son, even for a little while. I’m begging you, just...put the gun down and we can talk, okay? You beat us, it’s over. Come on.”<br/>
Catra looked to Bow, who returned the glance with a hopeless headshake. Of course, Catra didn’t seriously intend to let Typhon walk free. Not with Han-Tyumi in his sights. She was already plotting escapes, ways to take down guards most efficiently, who was armed and who wasn’t. Typhon had some sort of hanger sword affixed to his hip, the pommel an extravagant thing jutting outwards in a way that she might be able to seize the thing just barely. She didn’t expect to get that far, but Typhon was seemingly moved by her story. He lowered his gun, raising back up to his feet.<br/>
“Let her go,” he ordered Catra's assailant, who promptly did as they were told. She rose to her feet warily, surprised to see that Typhon seemed to be smiling.<br/>
What happened next was surprising. Typhon stepped forward gingerly, smiled at Catra and embraced her. The old man smelled suspiciously of decay and rust. He was like a corpse made of metal or something. Probably just a war thing, Catra surmised. Catra could see Bow over Typhon’s cold leather-robed shoulder, looking just as defeated as he did before. The lies would pay off, though; she’d let this play out until there was an opening and then she’d turn it around and rescue them. That was how it always was. She was Lord Protector Catra, right?<br/>
“A beautiful wish,” Typhon practically sang, his tone sounding far too upbeat to be truly trustworthy.<br/>
Catra felt something cold press into her midsection, digging into her uniform like a doctor’s instrument. And then she began to understand what this was about. Typhon had out-rused the ruse.<br/>
“But there will be no future. Not for you,” Typhon’s cheeriness seemed to all drain away.<br/>
The ensuing gunshot must have been the loudest noise Catra had ever heard. The sound was only rivalled by the searing pain in her side, followed by a slowly spreading warmth. Typhon loosened his embrace, letting Catra glance in terror at the wound he’d left. She felt the life drain from her, legs weakening as she fell to her knees and finally collapsed in totality. Blood soaked through the front of her uniform, feeling herself fade away all the while.<br/>
“Catra!” Bow screamed in horror, “No!”<br/>
Catra’s consciousness was slipping away fast, but she managed to keep her eyes open long enough to see Bow’s futile last act of resistance. He kicked the back of his foot into his captor’s shin, causing them to flinch and let him go for a minute. It bought him enough time to throw a ragged, running punch directly at Typhon’s face, but it was all in vain. Typhon saw him coming with almost supernatural levels of awareness, drew his hanger with perfect timing and cut the offending arm away at the elbow before the punch could even land. There was no dramatic howl of pain from Bow throughout this dismembering riposte; he simply let out a shocked gasp before Typhon finished him off with another horribly loud gunshot. Catra wasn’t sure where the shot was placed, but wherever it went, Bow wasn’t moving. He wasn’t getting back up.<br/>
“Goodbye, Lord Protector,” Typhon gloated, spitting Catra’s title with exceptional venom, “Now then. If you would all be so kind as to remove their remains from the premises…”<br/>
Catra faded in and out of the waking world all the while as Typhon’s goons hoisted her up and headed...well, somewhere. They must’ve carried her quite far before chucking her amongst the snow, with all the other broken things. They put Bow somewhere else, but she didn’t know where; she just knew it wasn’t here. Typhon couldn’t even grant her the small comfort of dying with friends. Her last thoughts were of Adora, of that beautiful face that she’d never wake up to again. That wasn’t the only thought she had, however. There was someone else there with her in those last moments, someone her and Adora would perhaps have gotten the chance to cherish together in a kinder universe.<br/>
Catra’s last thoughts could instead be more accurately described as being of both Adora and the son Catra thought she’d never know. Harper.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Cat's Foot...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something is troubling Adora back in Bright Moon. Not a word has arrived from the frontlines, and things just don't feel right. A warning from an unlikely place, one thought long-lost during the reformations, only serves to send her over the edge. We then return to the Lord Protector, wounded and disoriented as she finishes telling her story. Survival seems a distant prospect, but Catra at least has the satisfaction of some very descriptive last words. Then again, hasn't her life just been full of surprises lately? Maybe she should expect the unexpected...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 12: Cat’s Foot…</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something about the air over Bright Moon this morning that felt off, yet somehow vaguely optimistic. There were a couple of low-flying Royal Army corvettes in the airspace over the castle, apparently having been moored somewhere nearby. Off they went, back to the front. The site felt like an omen to Adora as she watched from her window, though whether it was a good or bad one she couldn't say. She watched the two colossal metal whales hover and finally depart, the view from Bright Moon castle continuing to be the best in the whole capitol, and felt an odd dip in her spirits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved away from the window and sighed, sitting back on her bed with a hand on her belly. Little Harper had really gotten quite big in the past five or so months; kind of made her a little afraid for just how his dramatic grand entrance was going to work. Did babies from Catra’s race come out with claws? Did they...</span>
  <em>
    <span>claw their way out? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was probably a stupid thing to worry about, but being cooped up in the castle with nothing to do except whatever hijinks Glimmer brainstormed up for the two of them made her mind wander. Adora tried hard not to think too hard about her kid’s claws, simply slouching back on her bed as she tried to make up her mind about what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora had managed to recover a bit of her exercise routine, though running could be a bit of a chore sometimes. She was certainly dressed for it, looking very sharp and proper in an oversized band shirt and sweatpants. Now and then, she’d worry a bit about ‘letting herself go’ and Glimmer would be there trying her best to be comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a huge thing you’re going through, Adora, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’d say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just do whatever makes you comfortable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, going for a walk or a jog in the royal gardens might have been nice. The only times when Adora’s mind wasn’t pathologically wandering was when she exercised, a quirk that could be partially to blame for her rather substantial physique. Yes, a quick walk might be the best prescription right now, seeing as how something didn’t feel right. There was misfortune on the winds that morning, for lack of a better articulation. Something was definitely wrong, and Adora had a sinking feeling that this unease was unmistakably tied to the fact that she hadn’t heard a solitary thing from the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora’s window of time for contemplation and worry suddenly came to an end as a knock came on the door. She hadn’t ordered anything, and she hadn’t been jumped on by paparazzi for a while (those couple of weeks after she went public about Harper were hell, though), so the person on the other side of the door could only logically be one woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just me, Adora! You decent? And, uh, not throwing up?” Glimmer asked from the other side of the door. She sounded a bit like she was struggling with something; maybe she’d ordered breakfast or something, and was struggling with the trays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay, Glimmer. Come on in,” Adora called. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen of the EPG gently nudged the door open, waving to her trusted friend from the doorway. She’d had to do so many public appearances with regard to the war that it felt a little jarring seeing her out of uniform. No, today she was just wearing a flowy, sleeveless purple top and grey jeans. Quite a majestic pair of fancy aristocrats, Glimmer and Adora were. In addition to sounding like she had her hands full, she certainly looked like it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re you holding up?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meh. I’m okay, I guess. I’m not sick or anything, just...worried. Something feels kinda off and I can’t put my finger on it,” Adora explained, resting her chin on her hands as she put her elbows on her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know what you mean. Wartime isn’t easy for any of us, especially with what’s at stake. People are really riled up, what with a rebel dictator having atomic launch codes and all,” Glimmer sighed, thinking of what a PR mess that situation had been to untangle, “I’ve got something here that might cheer you up, though!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pancakes with ketchup?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than pancakes with ketchup!” Glimmer exclaimed, then gagged at that thought, “See for yourself!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen nudged over in the doorway, seemingly making room for someone or something to pass through. A shifting, lithe form, all crimson and azure, began to stir in the hallway beyond before emerging into view. He was a familiar creature, one Adora thought she’d seen the last of when the reformations finally ended. When he ran away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melog!” she gasped in surprise, walking over to greet the extraterrestrial cat-creature Catra had once taken into battle, “Hey, buddy! How’s it going? Sure has been a while…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melog emitted a soft, flanged mew, nudging Adora’s outstretched hand with his snout. He then moved past Adora’s hand and rested his head against her belly for a moment, almost as if he was aware of the baby’s presence. He and Catra always had a strange bond, so Adora wouldn’t have been surprised if he knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Found him outside, sneaking around the garden. No idea how he found his way back. I guess he wanted to see you and the baby, maybe wish you well or something. Makes as much sense as any other explanation, I suppose,” Glimmer theorized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora was happy to see her and Catra’s otherworldly travelling companion again. His appearance made her discomfort fade for a moment, occupying Adora with how cute it was when he nudged her belly. It was like having a therapy animal in a way. Yet Melog’s demeanor didn’t seem to be wholly friendly and wholesome; he was looking almost emaciated with his ribs jutting from his fur, and he seemed to be shivering. The deep blue abyss of his giant, pupil-lacking eyes had sadness behind them, his noises betraying some internal weakness or discomfort. Something was clearly up, and knowing Melog, Adora could surmise with great certainty that it had to do with Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glimmer, have you heard any updates from the front? Anything at all after Catra headed out to apprehend the Colonel?” Adora asked, scratching behind Melog’s ear in an effort to comfort the big cat-being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t. Not a word, actually,” Glimmer paused to contemplate that thought, “That is peculiar. Maybe it’s just taking them a while? It’s certainly a pretty big mission.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if it was, we should’ve at least gotten a line from, like, someone in the tail by now. Someone asking for reqs, that sort of thing. I think something’s up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I dunno, Adora…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s more, Glimmer,” Adora gestured to Melog, still squishing the side of his face into her midsection, “Catra and Melog had this...</span>
  <em>
    <span>psychic link thingy </span>
  </em>
  <span>back in the last war. Whenever she was in trouble Melog would look kinda off, and vice versa. And, uh, look at him now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer looked the cat over, then turned back to face Adora, looking downright stumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it. What am I looking at?” the Queen asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look closely. He looks sick, right?” Adora tried explaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer looked the odd, feline entity over a second time, kneeling to get a closer look. She put a hand on her chin, nodded subtly, and then stood up again. Melog looked over at the Queen and let out another low meow, this one weak and restrained. The noise was undeniably unhappy. While alien cat creatures were perhaps not the greatest of bases for launching search and rescue missions, there was at least some good historical evidence that this was somehow a cry for help from Catra. Somehow, she’d stirred Melog from his hiding place, projecting some message of danger across the black of space and onto the cat being. That might’ve explained why he seemed so fixated on the baby; she probably just wanted to be home with him, and Adora too of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that you mention it, he does look a bit green around the gills...er, whiskers. And I do remember how he used to get when Catra got roughed up during the reformations. I remember watching her get grazed by a stray round during an ambush. Poor guy sat outside the infirmary crying for ages,” Glimmer surmised, “Maybe it's time we check in with the strike team ourselves, beat them to the punch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Adora said softly, still trying to comfort poor Melog, “I’d like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer headed back out the door, still feeling a little silly that she was about to raise hell over a sickly cat. Melog’s bond with Catra was indeed something she’d witnessed firsthand, but she also felt like this could have a bazillion other explanations. Melog had been missing since the days of the reformations, out wandering the frontier doing First Ones know what. He could easily have just needed a snack and a dish of water, maybe a nap in a decent bed (assuming he didn’t claw the shit out of it like he did with many of his other beds). She still felt worried by this whole situation, though; why </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>there been any reports back from the front?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Adora. I’ll do what I can. I dunno if they’re still kicking, but the last unit I heard from over there was the sniper team. Their leader’s a bit of an odd duck, ex-Horde army, but he’s a good guy. Met him back when we planned this whole thing. If anyone can get this done, it’ll be him. Sound good?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect. And while you’re at it, see if the chefs can bring us some pancakes and ketchup. Two helpings, if you can. Poor guy looks like he’s starving…” Adora patted Melog’s bony sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what, you wanna poison him?” Glimmer joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not poison, it’s yummy! Just humor me here!” Adora ordered, voice laden with humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer just groaned, laughed, and headed back into the hall. She was genuinely concerned about the mission. Hopefully someone was left out there. Fingers crossed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which brings us to now, I guess,” Catra whimpered into her communicator, hacking another lump of blood up. This one was a little smaller at least. “I tell you, this has been a helluva year. We had some good times though, didn’t we Adora? Man, we should’ve seen ‘em coming. That ‘False Princess’ shit was following me everywhere I went. Walls, doors, fucking bathroom stalls...should’ve said something sooner. Like, how did I ever think it was a band? It’s pretty on the nose, don’t you think? Ah, I shouldn’t stress myself. I’m barely holding together as is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The field hospital had remained unchanged in the whole duration of Catra’s little audio-journal. Nobody from her side had come to rescue her, and nobody from Typhon’s warband had come to redecorate the little hutch with a fresh coat of cat brains. The hab’s heating unit had probably burnt out a while ago, but the numbing from the painkillers made hot and cold irrelevant sensations. Given that the wind outside was starting to sound like it was whispering, Catra was beginning to wonder if she’d taken too many of the little pills. Over the course of her story, she’d popped a couple of extra doses just to take some of the edge off; the sealant would hold her guts together, sure, but without proper care she was probably gonna just get sorer until she finally gave out. With nobody coming, it didn’t seem like proper care was on the table. All those drugs probably explained why she got way too detailed about her and Adora getting intimate a while into the story. Hopefully the history books would leave those parts out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This...this sucks, doesn’t it? Just when it looked like we’d finally gotten our happily ever after, things caught up with me. The past just won’t let go. You can run from it, try to fight it, even kill it, but it never lets go. That’s why this war is gonna need more than just a sledgehammer of shells to win. Adora, if Typhon gets his hands on the Han-Tyumi weapon, everyone will die. So, assuming we win, don’t get turned into green Jell-o, and this gets into your hands, I’ve got a favour to ask. Don’t show this to Harper. Eh, well, maybe you can when he’s older, just skip all the gross stuff. Tell him that I loved him very much, and from the moment I learned he was coming into this world I cherished and accepted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Adora. That seems obvious, I guess, but I wanna make it clear. It was supposed to be me and you together until the end, right? That’s what I said way back when. You let me outta your sight for a couple months and I get myself killed. Y’know, maybe I really am the idiot here. Well, anyway, thank you. Thank you for these three years of our life, just you and me doing our thing and being the weird, lovely cosmic twist of fate that we were. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. That I couldn’t be there for him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked back at the thin, sliding metal slab that was the door again, seeing that there was still not a single sign of life outside. This was really it. No one was coming, not even a mole rat who could maybe put her out of her misery and get it over with. Well, only one thing left to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think that’s about the end. I feel like there’s more to say, but even if I start again it’s never gonna be enough. I’m sorry, Adora. I fucking love you to bits. And that, babe, is that, I’m afraid,” with what little remaining strength she had, Catra thumbed through her communicator and opened up a playlist that was quickly becoming a mainstay for her, “Play me out, Roger Nelson.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hit play on that first song for the latest in a seemingly endless series of times. Hearing ‘Purple Rain’ again after it had taken on such sweet meaning for her felt almost like hearing a sick joke that went on forever and didn’t really have a punchline. Yet here she was, still singing along to it as her breathing got more and more ragged and the pain from the wound in her side poked through the drug-induced haze yet again. Something drew her back to it, but she didn’t really know what it was. Whatever it was, it was definitely entwined with Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it the way she looked in the morning light as she got up for her daily jog, always running a hand through Catra’s hair and kissing her forehead before leaving? Was it how she always cared about keeping the house tidy and organized, but still tolerated Catra’s mess? How about how she couldn’t grill a steak to save her life, but Catra always loved seeing her try her hand with it because it made her smile and laugh? Maybe it was in the way she held Catra when she woke in the night from a bad dream, dysphoric and barely able to breathe? Perhaps that gleam in her eyes she had when the two of them made love, so powerful and full of passion for Catra yet still vulnerable and loving? The answer, in all likelihood, lay within all of the above and more. Catra let it all come back to her as she slipped away, her breathing beginning to get more and more choked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she heard a faint noise amidst the singing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A door slid open, the pneumatic moan followed by the sound of steadily advancing bootheels. Someone was shouting orders, but even though Catra’s senses were beginning to slip again she knew the language they were using anywhere. It wasn’t Horde battle language. It was Etherian Basic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got another one over here! She’s alive!” a nearby voice, buried under layers of haze but still somehow oddly familiar, boomed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt herself float off the ground, though whether she was actually being picked up or was just high as a kite seemed completely indiscernible. She didn’t know where she was or where she was going. Everything was turning to white noise. As she slipped off again, back into the seam that sat between the living and the dead, she heard something that sent her reeling. Who was this guy, anyway? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang in there. You’re gonna be okay. I think so, anyway,” that same odd voice nearby stated with some hesitancy, then began to chuckle softly, “Y’know, it’s funny. Never thought it’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>saving </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>ass, Force Captain.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. ...Iron Claw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Awaking in a dingy, hellish corner of enemy territory he does not recognize, Bow finds himself in a state which brings him mixed feelings. Imprisoned and left for dead, the heroic engineer meets with a certain shapeshifting bounty hunter. Seeking penance for their misdeeds against Catra and the EPG, Double Trouble seems more willing to lend a hand than anyone could've expected. With their very particular set of skills, help might just be on the way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 13: ...Iron Claw </b>
</p><p>
  <span> Bow awoke with a start, his mind still firmly in that room with that bastard Typhon. His eyes burned for a moment, only to adjust to the light after a couple of minutes; clearly he’d had his eyes closed for quite a long time. He didn’t really have a good sense of where he was, or how he was still alive. A cursory glance around the room yielded a couple of observations: he was in some sort of unmarked, dingy cube of industrial concrete, there was some sort of weird little metal thing attached to his chest, and he was hooked up to some sort of machine. Following the wires led him to his left arm, and then he remembered something had happened with it. What exactly was that again? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re finally awake!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow’s adjustment was suddenly interrupted by a strangely sultry voice at his bedside. He screamed in confusion, pulling himself away from the machine. Cables and ports came undone and snapped open as he spun around to face his would-be assailant, yet his senses were still a mess and all he could see was a green-and-orange blob. He managed a wonky haymaker in the shapeless mass’ direction, hearing a yelp of confusion as the punch connected. As his eyes settled on the other person, they crumpled to the ground and held their face in anguish, shouting a string of expletives all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to see the arm works. Motherfucker…” the stranger groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What arm?” Bow’s voice felt hoarse. He put ‘get a glass of water’ right behind ‘figure out where the hell I am and what the hell is going on’ in his mental to-do list. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow looked down at his hands and found himself screaming yet again. His right hand was totally untouched, just as he left it. Probably could’ve done with giving his nails a good clipping, maybe a little clear coat, but he could get that done no sweat. His left, on the literal </span>
  <em>
    <span>other hand, </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t have any nails at all; rather, it had been replaced from the elbow down with some sort of cybernetic prosthetic. It had a sleek, ivory-colored surface that probably would’ve matched nicely with his outfit, probably made of some kind of painted alloy. It was a cool machine, he had to admit, but also </span>
  <em>
    <span>where the fuck did his arm go?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember now? How that...that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>diced you up and put a bullet in you? Tell you, honey, you’re lucky to be alive. I hope you weren’t attached to that big knife of yours, though. It got a bit...uh, explodey when it took a bullet for you,” the stranger tried to explain, still holding their face, “Also, I see they’ve installed your heartplug.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My what?” Bow asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That little nub of metal in your chest. Don’t be sad, everyone wears one here,” the stranger took a reptilian, lanky hand away from their face and pulled back part of their orange jumpsuit, revealing an identical metal plug, “A word of advice? Don’t play with it unless you fancy a slow and painful death choking on your own blood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, okay,” Bow blurted, throat still sore, “I’m good, thanks. Do I know you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger squinted their golden eyes, tiny yellow specks glowing under their mane of frazzled platinum hair. Then their eyes widened, almost as if they had had a stunning epiphany. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say, did I disguise myself as an obsessive She-Ra fan and then proceed to antagonize you, a rugged lady in a red coat, and a short purple lady who throws glitter at people? Rad move set on the purple gal, by the way. That shit is the herpes of craft supplies,” the stranger explained with vivid fervour, almost a spoonful of nostalgia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe? That sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too specific for it to have not happened. I don’t really remember, though,” Bow replied, shrugging. He did feel like the lizard-like, beautifully androgynous individual was strangely familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Well, bygones stay bygones and all. I did kind of save your life and steal you a new arm, y’know. So I’m guessing your next question is ‘where am I’?” the stranger checked in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow just nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This, my one-armed friend, is Thaddeus Typhon’s grand base of operations. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>one, not the decoy you and your jarheads went after. It’s a lot of things. A barracks, a staging grounds...and a work camp where prisoners like us </span>
  <em>
    <span>dig </span>
  </em>
  <span>along with an unlucky handful of Second Legion support personnel. I’d ask you how that arm’s suiting you, but between socking me in the jaw and all the digging you’ll be doing, I think you’ll get used to it. Don’t worry about getting too much resistance from that shiny new toy; when I snuck into the infirmary, I was sure to snag one of the fancy top-of-the-shelf Dryl models,” the stranger pointed at Bow’s new arm eagerly, proud of themselves for their haul clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow looked the arm over a few times again. He rotated it to the left and right, got a feel for the mechanisms; it was clearly a fine bit of craftsmanship. Sure enough, there was a sharpened Dryl D etched into the top side of the gadget, seemingly a reminder that almost everything was manufactured by them these days. Even the people, it seemed. He gave his new fingers and thumb a quick wiggle, and found that it felt almost better than the real thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did all this by yourself?” Bow asked, “Pretty good job fixing it up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’m no cyber-surgeon. I dabble. A bit of medicine and cybernetics know-how gets you far on the frontier. Again, though, I’m not that good. You won’t go septic or bleed internally or anything, but you might get a little soreness,” the stranger explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels fine to me,” Bow gave his fingers another wiggle, laughing a bit at how weirdly nice the new arm felt before letting out a sigh, “Glimmer’s not gonna like it, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, do I detect mention of a sweetheart back home? Or perhaps more of a steamy paramour? Either way, it sounds to me like you have a thing for none other than the Queen of the EPG, sir,” the stranger gleefully trilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, kinda weird that you jumped to that, but, uh...yeah, we’re a thing. I’d say our thing is somewhere between those two things you mentioned.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I have to say is don’t worry about her. That arm of yours is state-of-the-art like I said, and it can fit some pretty cool mods on it...maybe some for--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like where this is going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying that--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope! Nope nope nope! This is not a conversation I am having with some complete random!” Bow shrunk away in embarrassment, shifting to the very edge of the cot he was on and backing into the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We literally met back in--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nope, can’t hear you! Sorry! La la la la!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bow stuck his index fingers--both the normal one and the cybernetic one--in his ears and started hollering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! Standing offer, though,” the other assured Bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow quieted down and turned back around to face the stranger. He smiled awkwardly, and before he or the stranger knew it they were having a mutual laugh about it. The levity was a good thing amidst the oppressive air of Typhon’s fortress, though it was short lived. Everything about this place screamed ‘hell’. Outside, dozens of identical little factory-stamped cells lined a hive of impenetrable steel as some machine sparked somewhere. Truly, this was Tartarus; a laugh just might stave off the hellfire for a short, merciful minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, look, I’m sorry. I have a bit of a sick sense of humor, but it’ll grow on you,” the other snorted and then sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all good,” Bow reassured them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you ever change your mind, I can get you whatever mod you want for a couple hundred thousand creds. Even the </span>
  <em>
    <span>saucier </span>
  </em>
  <span>ones, if you know what I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...right. Why help me, though? That’s the one thing I don’t get.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re buying, darling. I’m just giving them the money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean...all of this. The arm, keeping me alive, everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other heaved another sigh, looking a bit apprehensive for a moment. It was as if they had some sort of pent-up sin that was eating them up inside, something that they needed to get off their chest. Nothing came out at first, however. Instead, the other simply reached for something under Bow’s cot. After a few moments of grumbles, fumfers and even a few curses--just how much stuff were they keeping under there anyway?--the other produced what looked like some sort of ramshackle radio transmitter. It was a good thing Bow was the engineer he was, elsewise the machine would’ve looked like a hunk of junk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve done a lot of bad things with my life. One minute, the Second Legion rings you up for what looks like just another gig, and the next thing you know they make you shoot unarmed folks like it’s going out of style. Not to mention they make you do awful shit to people you care about, people you </span>
  <em>
    <span>look up to,</span>
  </em>
  <span> too,” the other looked down at their crossed legs, voice heavy with remorse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You used to be one of them?” Bow asked, suddenly defensive. If this person used to fight for those evil bastards, Bow didn’t know if they could truly be trusted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly. Just on their payroll, babe. What matters is who I am now, and who I am now is the EPG’s enby pal on the inside. See, over the course of that little three-day power nap of yours, I’ve been feeding the Royal Army tips on this place. Every document I can find, every clue, every </span>
  <em>
    <span>landmark, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I report it. And when Lord Protector Catra gets out of the hospital--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Catra? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra's still alive?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indeed she is. Pulled in by a recon team along with the other survivors of Typhon's trap. Took a beating, by the sounds of it, but she’s still around. Even now, Major General Scorpia’s planning one final offensive with the help of my intel, but she wants Catra there for it. No idea why, but my guess is after watching ol’ cash kitten get beaten, shot, frostbitten and drugged and then walk away from it like she was Grigori fuckin’ Rasputin, she’s become something of a lucky charm for the Royal Army. Once she recovers, we’ll be onto phase two of our gloriously fab escape plan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s phase one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wait. We dig. We cause enough accidents around the dig site that we can stall Typhon from digging up his goop nuke for as long as it takes for the cavalry to arrive. Not exactly high-stakes adventure, but it works, believe me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds...kinda fun. I could cause a little mayhem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow hopped off the cot and sat beside the other on the floor. He looked over at the reptilian stranger, still looking a little melancholy. The other put the radio transmitter down on the floor, taking a brass hip flask with the letters ‘DT’ engraved into it out of their prison coveralls. They took a long swig of whatever was inside, wiping their mouth with a slender, well-manicured hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to not...do bad things. I’m a performer, an artist. I’m not a fascist, and I’m sure as shit not a self-sabotaging sellout. Maybe once all this is over I’ll finally get to apologize to Catra. Not that I expect her to forgive me,” they grumbled to themselves before taking a deep breath, “Look, you’ve got no reason to trust me--that hunk of steel on your elbow notwithstanding--but I promise you I want to help. Whaddaya say, bionic man?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow thought about their words for a good solid couple of minutes. He hardly knew a thing about this person, but their vague allusions to the past seemed to imply that they may have had bad blood at some point; not only that, but they’d been working with the mole rats. It wasn’t exactly a resume he was impressed by. However, it seemed like the odd little person was Bow’s best hope at a ticket out of here, and any friend of Catra’s was a friend of his. So, Bow cracked a weak smile, held out his remaining meat hand, and let the other shake it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Double Trouble, by the way. And you are?” the other, finally getting a face to their name, asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The name’s General Artemis Bowman, 77th Bright Moon Pioniers. You can call me Bow. Everyone else does,” Bow introduced himself in turn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Double Trouble took another sip from their flask, then passed it along to Bow with the cap still unscrewed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I offer you some toilet wine in this trying time, General Bow?” they asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name sounded atrocious, but Bow thought a damn stiff drink of any sort would be nice right about now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mind if I do,” Bow snatched the flask, taking a deep swig. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bootlegged prison wine tasted like ass, but it sharpened Bow up a little bit at least. Helped him forget about the numb pain in his fingertips. His left fingertips, that was. The two unlikely comrades and cellmates then sat on the cold stone floor, saying nearly nothing and passing Double Trouble’s flask back and forth, hanging on in grim but comforted contemplation as they awaited the final battle. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone, </p><p>Just gonna add a bit of fluff nerding. The Second Legion's "heart plug" torture devices are exactly what they say on the tin. Underlings within the militia--penal units and prisoners come to mind--are surgically implanted with a very crude cybernetic that basically consists of a metal hole filled with a detachable nubby bit, worn over the heart. If these lower castes are caught stepping out of line, a higher-ranking supervisor can simply pull the nub out and the henchman bleeds to death on the spot. And yeah it was more than a little inspired by Dune but I thought it was just such an awful, bastardly way to execute someone that I thought it would fit well with an outfit like the Second Legion. </p><p>Take care and don't play with your heart plug,</p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. We're Not Gonna Take It Anymore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Reunited with some old comrades, a hard-bitten Catra takes part in a daring combined arms operation with a few simple objectives: rescue Bow, crush the Second Legion within their very base of operations, and end the war. Oh, and another thing...finding Typhon and killing that son of a bitch.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
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  <b>Chapter 14: We’re Not Gonna Take It Anymore </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was kind of beige. What a stupid color that was, beige. The room looked like it was made of coffee; in theory, a room full of coffee sounded pretty awesome to Catra, but then she realized that she would just end up drinking the room and that would be bad. Was this even a room, or was this the afterlife? Catra’s only memories were of passing out in the field hospital hab and not feeling anything afterwards. She wondered if maybe her sudden, displeased hyperfixation on the beige coloring of the room was perhaps some last results of her drug use. Regardless, the beige soon began to focus and refocus until Catra could make out a couple more details about the room: a ceiling fan, a solitary window with some light poking through, and a stocky man sitting sound asleep in a chair in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked around a little more, every fibre of muscle in her neck throbbing all the while. She was thankful to be alive--assuming this was in fact not the afterlife--but not so thankful for the surges of pain rocking her form. Everything felt like rusty metal, and her extremities were still numb and faintly stinging. Nonetheless, Catra managed to deduce a few other things about her room; she was hooked up to an IV machine on her left, an EPG banner was pinned to the wall parallel to her, and the gentleman curled up in the corner sported a scruffy beard and messy bun as well as some EPG dogtags. He was on her team. That was good. Seemed that whoever he was, he was certainly pretty attached to Catra. Why did he look vaguely familiar? She didn’t recall ever meeting him, yet she had a vague sense that maybe she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” Catra tried to croak out, only to find she could barely enunciate a thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Catra’s verbal challenges didn’t seem to get in her way. Across the room, the fellow in the chair cracked an eye open. He snorted, springing to attention and sitting up in his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bah! Who goes there?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he shouted, confused and clearly sleepy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just me, pal,” Catra groaned, voice still like a clattering mess of scrap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, shit, really?” the bearded dude asked, flabbergasted, as he scrambled to Catra’s bedside, “Well, isn’t this a surprise! Good to hear from you, Force Captain! Just when I’d given up hope, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Force Captain?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I...what?” Catra stammered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, force of habit. Lord Protector, I should say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I…” beard turned away, seeming almost a little let down, “I’ve been watching over you for three days. Mostly for the bragging rights, I guess. Like I said, I don’t think anyone would’ve ever thought I’d be the one saving your ass one day. But, I mean, y’know, you get reunited with an old CO after three years and she's higher than a kite on pain pills while her guts are held in with a bit of paste. Not a pretty site. I’m a worrier, what can I say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That really doesn’t help,” Catra muttered bluntly. There was still something familiar about this chap; evidently he was ex-Horde, that much was apparent. He still wasn’t quite ringing any distinctive bells, however. Must’ve been the pills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You don’t remember me? Aww. It’s the haircut, right? No, wait, the beard! Ugh, the beard always throws everybody off! Rogelio told me it was a bit much, but did I listen? No!” beard sighed, “Just goes to show I oughta listen to my doofus of a husband more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra remembered Rogelio, but her memory was somewhat hazy about his husband. Or whether the hulking reptilian even </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>a husband, for that matter. Last Catra heard, her old Horde squad member hung up his guns for good, off writing romance novels or something. Maybe he did get married? Catra had some vague recollections of getting invited to the wedding, getting drunk and eating exactly one piece of the terrible cake and--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait a minute. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Kyle?” Catra asked, finally feeling like she connected the dots about beard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beard, identity seemingly revealed, made a weird giddy squeal and punched the air joyfully. It seemed that Catra had figured it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one and only! Good to have you back, Force Ca--umm, Lord Protector, I mean,” Kyle briefly saluted. Clearly he was happy to see her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve...uh, you’ve bulked up,” Catra remarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Kyle looked displeased, “I drag you out of No Man’s Land and get you to a hospital, reuniting us after three years. I keep an eye on you </span>
  <em>
    <span>meticulously </span>
  </em>
  <span>while they pump your stomach and go rooting around for all the bits of lead in you and then sew you back up. All this, just so you can call me fat? Haven’t changed a bit, dick. I’m hurt. Wounded, even.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha--n-no, that’s not what I meant at all!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m totally screwing with you, Lord Protector. I caught your drift,” Kyle laughed, “Good to have you back. Even if you do think I’m fat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still just messin’ with you. You still can’t take a joke, I see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure I can take a joke!” Catra shouted, voice still hoarse. She had to fight the urge to cough. “For instance, here’s a good one I made up. I don’t care for cheese. You could say I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>curd</span>
  </em>
  <span>-mudgeon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle just groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. Think I better just call the Major General down here before you tell anymore of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those </span>
  </em>
  <span>winners,” he said with total disdain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, that was pretty good! Screw you!” Catra paused, processing the mention of a Major General, “Wait, Scorpia’s still alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am. The boys and I got her and her whole command squad out. They were holed up back in the woods near Typhon’s little trap. Not an easy thing, knowing your intel got people killed…” Kyle started walking for the door, stopping in the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Catra’s memories of the trap suddenly came crawling back, “Wait, Bow--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MIA. No body was found,” Kyle explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Sea Hawk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle froze for a minute. Catra knew full well bad news was coming, and she was all but certain of what that bad news was going to look like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t make it. None of the Marines did…” Kyle spat the last part of the statement with extra vitriol. Catra guessed he was really mourning that particular loss, and considering how catastrophic it was she didn’t blame him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, this was just tragic. That much was obvious, and it probably went without saying. Fucking hell, Catra never liked Sea Hawk, but she didn’t want the crazy bastard to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She was always a bit too hard on him, always finding his brazen incendiary-based tactics to be something for derision despite the fact that they sometimes worked, and now she was never gonna get to apologize for it. Well, hopefully he died as he lived: a blaze of glory. He was committing arson with the angels now. They were all comforting statements, but Catra knew the truth was probably uglier and far less heroic; war often was not as heroic as the history books made it out to be, that was one thing she’d never stop saying or believing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck…” was all she could respond with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Well, it’s like your lady friend said on the telescreen. Can’t save ‘em all, right?” Kyle asked, completely rhetorical. He had tears in his eyes, but Catra was pretty sure they weren’t for Sea Hawk, “Look, I gotta go. Scorpia’s gonna want to know you’re finally up. Buy you a beer when this is over?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll owe me several,” Catra teased, trying to find some levity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet I’m the one who saved your life. You were never very good at math, you old killer,” Kyle laughed dryly, “I’m glad you’re here, Catra.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle walked off to go find Scorpia, somewhere else in the intricacies of this field hospital or firebase or...whatever it was. Catra would’ve waved goodbye, but her arms still felt a little weak. She imagined she’d probably have to conserve her energy for the coming days, or maybe even hours. As soon as possible, she wanted to get her boots back in the field. Typhon was gonna pay for all of his head games, his violence, his pathological obsession with destruction on a planetary scale. It was gonna end, one way or another; she only hoped she got the ending where the galaxy didn’t get liquified and turned into Horde chow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle returned with Scorpia in tow, looking quite commanding in her purple and gold officer’s uniform. Catra could only assume she’d either been transferred away from Armoured, or simply hadn’t done wetwork in quite a while. She surmised it was probably both. When her scorpioni pal made her way to Catra’s bedside, she was grinning like a total idiot. Not Adora levels of idiot, mind you, but still in that general area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we can get to the serious stuff in a bit, but first I have a question for you,” Scorpia started with strange giddiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot,” Catra said, smiling back at her bro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you well enough that I can hug you without causing you extreme pain?” Scorpia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only one way to find out,” Catra dared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled up in Scorpia’s eyes rather dramatically. She faltered for a moment and looked at the bedridden Lord Protector with the level of fraternity only warfare could forge. Scorpia then took her claws and threw them around Catra suddenly and warmly, grasping her in a tight embrace as she </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually sobbed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra felt what might’ve been a few stitches being knocked loose, but the pain kind of didn’t matter to her in that moment. She was just glad the both of them were alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know if you’d ever wake up, bro! Oh god, oh god…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Scorpia blubbered. It was nice to see the war hadn’t crushed her big heart yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s--</span>
  <em>
    <span>ow!</span>
  </em>
  <span>--okay. I’m here--</span>
  <em>
    <span>oof!</span>
  </em>
  <span>--now, bro,” Catra grumbled, in a great deal of pain but still trying to be warm. She certainly felt warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit! Sorry! Am I hurting you? Are you okay? Do you have internal bleeding?” Scorpia recoiled, releasing Catra from her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who cares? That’s where all the blood’s supposed to be! Get back over here! I’m happy to see you alive too, y’know!” Catra demanded, raising an IV-prodded arm and waving Scorpia over with what little strength she had presently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” Scorpia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pretty </span>
  </em>
  <span>sure,” Catra answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia relented and resumed embracing her wounded comrade. There was probably so much behind that hug, surprisingly more so than usual. Scorpia was in all likelihood not just overjoyed to see her best friend still drawing breath: she was perhaps thankful that the two of them would again get the chance to go home to their respective families together. Catra would get to see her son, Scorpia would get to see her daughter again, the two would get to reunite with their lovers, and perhaps the two families might forge some sort of bond. That was the ideal situation, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Kyle!” Kyle exclaimed as he slammed into the two and embraced both of them, joining the three soldiers and former Horde comrades in an awkward, lopsided group hug. Catra groaned again as her wounds throbbed in pain, but again she didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah! And Kyle!” Scorpia shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right!” Catra added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them huddled around the hospital bed in their little group hug for a little while longer, Catra simultaneously revelling in the shared warmth and damning this stitched-up hole in her side for making a moment like this so difficult to enjoy in peace. Eventually, however, things had to come to an end. There was business to be discussed, a war to set right, and a genocidal authoritarian to take down. Not exactly a shopping list for the grocery store. The soldiers unravelled, still thankful that all three of them were here and alive and well, and hardened their composure as best they could for some serious military talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy you’re all here. Can’t stress it enough. Now let’s get this show on the road,” Scorpia cleared her throat, “Leading an army is...certainly a job I never wanted to slide back into, but I’m pretty good at it. We’ve managed to retake quite a few strategic flashpoints across the planet, such as our little abode here at the old planetary governor’s estate, but we still haven’t figured out where the bastards are coming from. Well, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that is, until a few days ago. Our informant in the Second Legion base of operations has slowly been feeding some pretty elaborate info about the place, and we think we've finally triangulated the place's location. I'll let the master scout himself take over for that little bit. Kyle, you wanna take the floor?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Been hoping someone would ask me that all my life," Kyle slipped a hand into the back pockets of his Royal Army uniform pants, pulling out a miniaturized hologram projector. The device noisily whirred to life, eventually fabricating a hovering digitized image of an imposing, sizable Dryl refinery complex. “I call it ‘the Omega Fortress’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Omega Fortress? Seriously? What are you, twelve?” Catra snarked, snorting in hilarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! It’s badass!” Kyle huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I agree. It’s a cool name, Kyle,” Scorpia gave Kyle a comforting pat on the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Major General. At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>two of us </span>
  </em>
  <span>have good taste here. Anyway, we’re getting a little off topic here,” Kyle waved towards the hologram of the Omega Fortress, as if to signal to the room that they had to segue back into the matter at hand, “This, my friends, is Typhon’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>base of operations. It’s a massive old mining and refining complex that he’s repurposed into his own personal death camp-slash-evil hangout. To say this’ll be the hardest push in the war would be putting gently. Luckily, Scorpia and I have a plan to get us in…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catra took a centring breath, letting her lungs fill up with the off-putting odour of mingled exhaust and sweat plaguing the hangar. Frankly, after the beating she took she thought it was a miracle she was in this state, kitted out and donning her uniform; it seemed like the damage was nothing a combat stim and another layer of sealant wouldn’t fix. Everything seemed to be holding together relatively well, however, so that could only be a good sign. She was just waiting for her transport to arrive and for the first phase of the plan to begin; the briefing around the final offensive made victory seem almost doable, and it had been nice to learn from Scorpia that Bow was not only still alive but also in the informant’s care within the Omega Fortress. There was one thing left to do before the attack began, however. Catra looked at the oversized metal case she held at her side, the thing emblazoned with Dryl’s signature D-arrow. Scorpia said it was a special delivery just for Catra, courtesy of Dryl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra set the case on the floor, sitting herself down cross-legged in front of it. Slowly she unclasped the case’s brassy locks, one after another just like she had in the Dryl building five months ago. This wasn’t just a drop of a fresh revolver and sword, no; this thing had way too much weight to it to simply be another round. There were some extra goodies in there too. There had to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands lifted the top of the case upwards, revealing that her hypothesis had indeed come true. There was a new revolver--this one had a brass finish, white grip and omitted the engravings--and a new sabre, but this time there was something else. It looked like a gauntlet of some sort, a coil of rope visible within the device’s inner workings. The rope had a four-pronged, anchor-like accoutrement at the end of it, made of some kind of strong metal. She knew full well what it was. Well, she had a very educated guess about it, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grappling hook…” Catra muttered to herself, impressed. She strapped the gauntlet on and affixed the other two weapons to her belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha got there, boss?” Kyle’s voice snuck up on Catra from behind--a fitting entrance for the infiltrator--along with a familiar scent that drove Catra up the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kyle, would you put that damn thing out? I just quit,” Catra snapped, turning to face the sniper. She wanted to slap that cigarette right out of that bearded maw of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, really? Ah, I’m sorry. Nice work with that, by the way. Wish I had that level of self-control,” Kyle picked the cigarette out of his mouth and let it fall to the floor, dousing it with his bootheel, “So, anyway, whatcha got there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Care package from Dryl. Just some replacement gear,” Catra took the revolver out of the box and gave it a spin on her finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, wait, that’s it? One lousy pistol and a bread knife?” Kyle asked, seemingly aghast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Gotta be close quarters,” Catra said indignantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly, pal. Here, hang on a second,” Kyle held his hands up as a wordless request for Catra’s patience, heading off to some other part of the hangar with his winter-pattern camo cloak billowing behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra waited for a bit, a little confused as to what Kyle’s little scheme was. She assumed he was off to get her some sort of extra gear...thingy, but what the hell could he possibly conjure up? What could he have that could one-up Dryl? To be honest, Catra didn’t have a super high opinion of Dryl, so that probably wouldn’t be hard to do from her perspective; still, not many people had that same skepticism for the megacorporation, especially not among the rank-and-file. That said, Kyle had certainly taken on a bit of bravado in these past three years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle returned in short order with a thick, solidly-built firearm. It looked to be pump-action, sporting a side-mounted rack of 12-gauge shells. The bayonet lug was ready with a sizable blade attached to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is that, a combat shotgun?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think if you wanna get nitpicky they’re callin’ ‘em ‘trenchguns’ these days, but yeah. Mole rats were launching an Etherinet propaganda campaign calling ‘em a war crime, if you can believe it. Anyway, you like it?” Kyle held the weapon out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra took the gun from Kyle’s hands, looking it over for a bit. It looked like it could do some damage, sporting the same white-gold polymer finish of most Royal Armory weaponry. It seemed as if the Royal Army’s workhouse shotguns had lost a bit of their heft since the reformations. Also, how were the mole rats even allowed to claim the Royal Army was fighting dirty? Those bitches started the war by shooting unarmed civilians, for the First Ones’ sake. Regardless, it looked like the improved, modernized design was sufficiently light that it wouldn’t slow her down too much. Catra accepted the trenchgun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Catra nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s not quite as fancy as whatever custom Dryl piece you just unpacked, but nothing beats the classics if you ask me. Entrapta and her corporate high horse can take me to court over that,” Kyle snarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would pay to see that,” Catra laughed. Nice to see she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t sucking Dryl off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe after I buy you that beer,” Kyle joked, “Promise me you make those shots count, awright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be careful,” Catra reassured Kyle, maintaining her humor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, seriously, make them count,” Kyle’s playfulness suddenly turned into dead seriousness, pointing two fingers at the Lord Protector, “I’ve lost enough good goddamn soldiers in this stupid fuckin’ war. I ain’t losing you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, I’m sorry, Kyle...</span>
  </em>
  <span> Catra thought to herself grimly. Clearly something had happened to the poor guy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about me, man. I gotta make it home in one piece. How else am I gonna get to hold my son for the first time?” Catra explained. She had to get home for Harper, and leave him with a safer, Horde-free world to grow up in; that was something she was promising herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I figured that’d light a fire under your ass,” Kyle smiled in a way that was almost tragic, taking a moment to look away and draw an old photograph from his webbing; he contemplated it for a minute, slipped it away, and then looked back at Catra as if he was tearing up, “Family is important. Relationships are important. Take care of them, okay? Don’t make the same mistakes I made.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m sure you did the best you could,” Catra tried to comfort her old comrade, reaching out a hand only for Kyle to brush it aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I keep tellin’ myself. You’re probably right. I’m trying not to blame myself, but, well…” Kyle sighed, stiffened his brow, and gripped his sniper rifle close to his chest, “Look, I’ll see you out there, okay? Just be safe. And, uh, thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem,” Catra smiled sincerely at the former local dork and present master assassin, only to have whatever brewing poignant moment the two were having interrupted by an all-encompassing klaxon. It was time to move out. “May the hand of the First Ones be with you, Kyle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Kyle shrugged, starting for his respective transport, “You too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Omega Fortress, as it turned out, was not called the Omega Fortress by its inhabitants. The true moniker of Typhon’s headquarters--and they were indeed his headquarters--was (translated from good old fashioned Horde battle language, of course) the Tower of Silence. In the days since Typhon had triangulated Han-Tyumi’s burial ground and claimed the refinery over top of it as his own, the large-but-unremarkable industrial hub had been transformed from a boring old industrial sprawl to a fully functioning evil lair. The thing bristled with everything from barbed wire to machine gun nests to land mines and had access to just about every single higgledy-piggledy improvised weapon the insurgents of the Second Legion could set up on it. Heck, it even had a few antiques from Typhon’s personal collection: Horde howitzers, tanks, and small arms were all present, and some of the higher-ranking veterans got to wear the green-and-feldgrau colours of genuine Horde combat armour. It was all pretty impressive...not impressive enough that a crack Royal Army strike team couldn’t slip through the chinks in the armour, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Activity was normal at the guard post on the northeast corner of the island, overlooking the sea and a stretch of black beach so common to Ahriman. The tower was like a stout, miniature citadel of roughshod concrete, sporting its own flak cannon and enough room along its parapet for the occupants to deploy a bipod-mounted light machine gun if so desired. It was a pretty good fortification; not good enough, however. Even with that bigass anti-aircraft cannon right at their fingertips, the handful of poorly-equipped and even more poorly-fed ex-factory workers didn’t catch a solitary glimpse of the EPG stealth plane overhead. Nor did they catch the handful of parachutists who tumbled out, and even if they caught the sound of cat-like footsteps coming up the tower stairs it was already too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was upon the guard closest to the doorway in a coppery blur, her sabre thrusting elegantly through the seam in the soldier’s armor between their helmet and cuirass. The mole rat gave a pathetic death knell, choked with blood, before the Lord Protector jerked the blade counter-clockwise and delivered a grisly, neck-snapping coup de grace. Before the other mole rats could react, there came a precise rapport of suppressed shots and they fell to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That one was for Lonnie, you sons of bitches…” Catra heard Kyle mutter to himself over the communication microbead in her ear. The little earbuds were a lot less clunky than making communicator calls constantly, that was for certain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, killer?” Catra asked, fingers on her microbead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, shit, sorry, must’ve left my comms on. I-it’s nothing. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Anyway, looks like that’s all four towers down. Now our boys can throw the mole rats a little surprise beach party without worrying about ‘em spoiling it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t know what hit ‘em. Thanks for the assist, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always happy to help, Catra,” Kyle’s voice hushed for a moment, “At least some of us made it out alive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Kyle sighed, his grieving seemingly catching up with him again, “We’d better haul ass. Time for phase two.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Solid copy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If phase one had been the attack that went for the eyes, phase two went directly for the jugular. Scorpia had been meticulous about recording every weak point in the Omega Fortress’ outer shell based on the informant’s testimony, and Kyle’s preliminary scouting of the place had ensured the informant wasn’t bullshitting them. They’d been going over the list for months, and after some debate, analysis, and a healthy helping of argument, they settled on a point of entry for the strike team; it would of course be one that mixed practicality with speed and subterfuge, something that would allow Catra, Scorpia and Kyle’s scouts to cause the maximum amount of damage while the landing force pummelled the beach. As the three prongs of the strike team converged on the deserted, fenced-off corner of the Omega Fortress--or Tower of Silence or whatever--they all felt pretty good about the decision. Catra surmised Typhon had expected a breakout attempt from the old prison yard, but a breakin? Simply unheard of! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Howdy, wildcat. How’s it hanging?” Scorpia asked as she came into Catra’s view, the two of them approaching each other with the slow caution of gunslingers. Catra’s best bro had her ripper at the ready, but the Lord Protector hoped she wouldn’t have to use it; the amount of noise that thing made from reloading alone would have ruined the point of their sneaking mission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t followed, were you?” Catra slung her trenchgun off her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Any mole rats that crossed me got bonked on the head. I’m super sneaky, like a ninja,” Scorpia bragged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Catra rolled her eyes skeptically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>a ninja!” Scorpia assumed a highly exaggerated martial arts-style fighting stance, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get over here! </span>
  </em>
  <span>See? Pretty good, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, Stealthy McStealthpants. I’m gonna just go along with this and try my best to forget the incident with the bottle,” Catra sneered. Joking about that stupid, stupid botched shitshow of a mission was gonna be her way of coping for a very, very long time; that, and sneaking tokes of Perfuma’s finest pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That, my friend, is Adora’s job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, good luck with that one once the baby’s born, pal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You and Lebowski do okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s different. We’re special.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Girls, girls! Hi! Yes! Proper bants all around, but can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>keep it down and get on with the whole ‘breaking into the prison yard’ thing? I don’t like standing around for more than like 5 minutes at a time in an active warzone,” Kyle interrupted, stepping between the two with his hands outstretched in a gesture of halting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warzone? The landing force isn’t even--” Catra was suddenly cut off by the sound of a faint detonation in the distance, “Nevermind. Scorpia, ready with the bolt cutters?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call them that! I hug my wife and child with these claws!” Scorpia said with exaggerated shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, quit screwing around. You heard Kyle. There’ll be time for jokes </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>I turn Typhon into a red smear,” Catra hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal’s a deal,” Scorpia shrugged, mildly frustrated at how humourless everyone was being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia pinched her way through the old fence--it was certainly a sticky thing, and evidently Dryl didn’t want whoever it originally kept in this yard getting out--and the seven of them (Kyle, Kyle’s four-man squad, Scorpia and Catra) clambered through. The yard looked utterly deserted, which could mean one of two things: either the informant had kept good on their word, or all the mole rats’ prisoners had just sort of vanished into thin air for no discernable reason. Either way, their entrance seemed to be all but guaranteed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure we can trust this guy?” Catra asked as she and the strike team moved towards their next breach point in the Omega Fortress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not a guy. And honestly, I dunno. We haven’t died yet, though, so let’s keep at it,” Scorpia said cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off in the distance, the sound of muffled screams, gunshots and explosions cut through the air like an orchestra of violence. Catra swore she heard the sound of a group of regimental musicians piping the EPG’s anthem for a moment, only to squeal and be cut off in time with an all-too-coincidental detonation. She tried to forget about it all, knowing that the sacrifices made on that beach were going to help vanquish the Second Legion for good, not to mention cover their little sabotage-slash-rescue mission. As the three proceeded down the dimly lit service tunnel that would serve as their informant-given safe passage into the belly of the beast, she thought of whether today would become another one for the annals of EPG history. Victory on Ahriman Day or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crawl down the service tunnel was thankfully uneventful. As they marched down the dim, damp concrete hall, roof so low Scorpia had to hunch over for most of the journey, Catra noted some grim humour to the locale’s visuals. They were headed for a light at the end of a long tunnel. The visual metaphor was so incredibly on the nose it was almost pathetic. Hopefully death didn’t await them at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once that light at the end was reached, the image that awaited the strike team on the other end was anything but heaven. Dozens upon dozens of imposing, impenetrable steel doors, carved into the walls like honeycombs and lined with a network of rickety catwalks. The whole thing was like some sort of horrific, industrialized mass grave, an arrangement of giant metal coffins held in suspension by a decaying gray skeleton. Thankfully, however, it was not literally the final resting place of its captives. Today would be the day of their emancipation, Bow and this mysterious informant among them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Catra muttered under her breath, whistling as if impressed, “That’s a lot of cells. Where the hell are we even supposed to start?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia gave a look around at the place, Kyle and his scouts hanging back and presumably taking in the sites in their own way. The heavyset Major General pensively put a claw to her chin--a gesture which looked quite comedic--then nodded as if in quiet realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if I remember right, we’re looking for cell RKB-77. Am I remembering that right, Kyle?” Scorpia checked, giving a nod to the bearded, barrel-chested sniper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean you didn’t write it down?” Kyle asked with a bit of frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I thought you wrote it down,” Scorpia admitted with a nervous gulp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For shame, Major General,” Kyle shook his head and let out a wry, unimpressed chuckle, “Lucky for you, I’ve got a photographic memory. Lucky number 77 is correct.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty sure. Worst case scenario, we just start opening doors in a panic. Pretty sure everyone’s gonna scatter once those mole rat fucks get back here, whenever that is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, if that’s your best guess, I think we’d better get moving before the enemy returns. Just while we’re on the subject,” one of Kyle’s scouts, clad in an identical uniform save for a four-goggled recon helmet and a lack of rank chevrons, suggested as he put a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I agree with the redshirt. Bow’s not gonna rescue himself...well, I don’t think he will, anyway. ‘Sides, didn’t you just get done telling us you hated standing around?” Catra asked, almost snide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only when there’s gunfire in earshot, but I see your point. Rojas is right. We gotta get our asses in gear,” Kyle said agreeingly, “We should probably split up. Cover more ground that way. You ladies can each take a member of my team along if you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds great! What about you, bro?” Scorpia asked, turning to Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. I move faster on my own,” the Lord Protector insisted, pumping her shotgun and letting a shell chamber itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suit yourself, wildcat. Well, hope you stay safe out there. Dunno which life you’re on now, but I think we’re definitely pushing nine if you ask me,” Scorpia joked. She did sound a little bit worried, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Catra laughed, honestly a little worried herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three strike team sections all booked it for a different corner of the prison. Making sense of this enigma, this giant haphazard puzzle of little grey cubes, was definitely going to be a team effort. Luckily, Catra eventually deciphered a pattern in the endless letter and number jumbles written across every single wall. RKA was the first floor, RKB the second, and so on. From there, it was simply a bit of a numbers game; sure enough, counting up eventually yielded a cell named RKB-77. Catra was admittedly perplexed as fuck as to why this system was such a joke to figure out, but then she remembered that a lot of the folks working in this compound probably didn’t have the best literacy. Not that that was anything to scoff or laugh at; if anything, there was maybe some tragedy in it. Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the perilous plight of a populist proletariat, however. Catra peered through the reinforced glass and found herself simultaneously satisfied, relieved and positively aghast at what she saw. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hold up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is that…? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>On the opposite side of the glass, there sat two individuals. Laying on his back on the prison cot at the far end of the room was someone who was unmistakably Bow; sure, he looked like hammered shit, but at least that stupid soul patch of his was starting to look a bit like an actual beard. He had a nice new cybernetic in place of the arm Typhon took off, which Catra surmised he was probably pretty okay with given his tech geek status (still a pretty big thing to cope with, of course, but she hoped he was taking it in stride). The person on the floor, however, was the one setting off alarm bells for Catra. As the blonde reptilian looked up at the glass from the device they tinkered with, Catra looked at those piercing yellow eyes and knew right away who it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy fucking shit. Cash kitten? As I live and breathe?” Double Trouble asked, flabbergasted, as they chucked the gizmo on the floor and ran to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re you doing, you old pirate?” Catra asked her old...business partner? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>was certainly not the right word for the enby gun-for-hire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am...well, I’m certainly feeling some stuff, that’s for sure,” Double Trouble smiled a weak smile, looking more than a bit apprehensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fancy meeting them here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I bet they’re just a little nervous considering we’ve got a battle going on here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, is that Catra out there? Thank the First Ones, we’re saved!” Bow came running over, squeezing in beside a disapproving-looking Double Trouble, “Uh, not that I ever doubted you, Dee. Best roommate ever, am I right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, stop it, you flatterer,” Double Trouble gasped mockingly, playing along with Bow’s transparently false enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, look at this dynamic duo. Nice arm, Robin Hood. I bet Sparkles’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>all over it,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you really think so? Hey, wait! I don’t like what you’re implying!” Bow moved back a few steps in embarrassment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you,” Double Trouble rolled their eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zip it!” Bow spat, clearly still shamefaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just messing with you. I’m sure she’ll be happy you’re alive, though,” Catra smiled a bit more earnestly at Bow before turning her attention back to Double Trouble, “Guessing you were the informant?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me!” Double Trouble did an overly dramatic salute and clacked their heels together, as if they were ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>dramatic, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Semper fi! Who dares wins! On ne passe-pas! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Looks like I am a part of your army!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, right. At ease, soldier. Never thought I’d be glad to see you. Now just give me a sec, and I’ll have you guys outta there,” Catra said as she darted to the keypad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurriedly, Catra tried to think of the codes discussed back during the mission briefing. The three of them were really pretty stupid to have not written any of it down anywhere. She just stared daggers down at the little touchpad, its digital banner of ‘ENTER CODE’ almost daring to make a mockery of her. Never let it be said that the Lord Protector was a slouch with memorization, however. She could remember Adora’s pizza orders to a tee every single time, even on wing night; that big, dumb space marine never could consistently choose between honey garlic and barbecue, which was just one more little reason why she loved her. And, in that moment, Catra knew just what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s see here...1...1...1...and, uh...1!” Catra entered the code, or at least her attempt at the code. The panel, however, merely admitted an angry klaxon and printed ‘ACCESS DENIED’ across the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know the code, huh doll?” Double Trouble snickered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! I just...got a number off or something! Lemme try again,” Catra took a deep breath, “2…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save yourself the further embarrassment, you nimble little ocelot. The code is 0451. You’re welcome,” the androgynous gunslinger taunted. Why did every single word out of their First Ones-forsaken yap have to be so stupidly horny? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra relented and typed in the right code, 0451. It was strange entering the numbers, as for a second the Lord Protector felt a bizarre sense that that was a very common combination for locks and things. Sure enough, there came a great sigh of pneumatics and the door slid open. Double Trouble and Bow practically fell onto the catwalk outside, each of them dressed in identical orange jumpsuits. Seeing Bow alive and well along with Double Trouble...showing up out of nowhere for some reason and saving the day filled Catra with a slight urge for an awkward group hug. However, it had to wait. Whatever battlegroup of mole rats guarded this place would probably be back soon, having perhaps realized the beach landing’s exquisite double purpose as a diversion. They had to get moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys feel okay? Can you still fight?” Catra asked, looking Bow and Double Trouble over. They both looked a bit beaten up, not to mention Bow probably hadn’t quite gotten a feel for that cybernetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should be fine. I’ve still got a bit of the ol’ Bow pizzazz in me. Plus, you should see Dee’s shiv skills,” Bow pointed to his cellmate with an odd reverence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Arty. You give me too much credit,” Double Trouble put their hands to their cheeks in another dramatic pose. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Arty? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute. Dee, you should probably tell her what you told me. Before it’s too late,” Bow suddenly interjected, the look on his face changing from relief and optimism to one of utter seriousness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about what?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Double Trouble’s cutesy veneer faded away for a moment, only to be replaced by the most concerned, dour look Catra had ever seen from them. They looked almost as if they were going to cry. Not once in their relatively short-lived time together--that, and a few run-ins during the reformations--had Catra ever seen Double Trouble this solemn. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever seen them looking solemn </span>
  <em>
    <span>period. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What the hell were the two of them hiding? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra, I…” the gunslinger emitted a noise not unlike a sob, “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>I was the reporter</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra froze. For a moment, the phrase ‘I was the reporter’ didn’t really make a ton of sense to her. Then she remembered an event from the prior five months that did indeed involve a reporter. It was an event she’d rather forget, but nonetheless one she couldn’t shake the memory of. All she could think about suddenly was a crow-faced woman, a file folder of candid photos of her and Adora, and a mob of camera-wielding scriveners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--” Catra started, hoping to high hell that the connections she was making weren’t accurate, “What the fuck are you talking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“JF Rollins, the reporter? She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra. I stood outside your room on VE Day, taking nasty photos of you and Adora while recording the inside of your room through a bug. The Second Legion paid me to do it, but I swear to the First Ones that I turned on them once I realized what I’d done. That’s why I was locked up here. Please, Catra, I’m so sorry. If you can just--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Double Trouble didn’t get to finish their explanation, however. Catra was upon them at a moment’s notice, revolver drawn and pointed directly at their ex-colleague. The Lord Protector pressed the muzzle of the flechette gun under Double Trouble’s chin </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>thumb teasing at the hammer. She felt nothing but bile for this sleazy little wretch, contribution to the rescue mission be damned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, hey Catra, take it easy…” Bow held his hands up, voice soft and tranquil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? That’s what you want? You want me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>take it easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Catra cocked the hammer of her gun, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn this little pervert’s skull into paste. Clock’s ticking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They saved my life. They helped get you in. Isn't that enough?" Bow asked, beads of worried stress sweat forming on his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay, Bow. I understand where she's coming from. I had a good run," Double Trouble resigned themself to their fate, or seemingly did at any rate, as they looked at their former employer with sad eyes, "Well? What are you waiting for? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dee--” Bow started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Double Trouble hissed at Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra tightened her grip on her sidearm, fully prepared to pull the trigger and put an end to Double Trouble’s swindling for good, but something made her hesitate. She’d killed a lot of people in the past five months without giving it much thought, but things were different here. Double Trouble, or ‘Dee’ as Bow had taken to calling them (and thank goodness for that, given how much of a mouthful their </span>
  <em>
    <span>nom de guerre </span>
  </em>
  <span>was), was a bit of a slimeball, sure. Catra didn’t think they were perhaps a fully irredeemable slimeball, however. Their eyes held some genuine remorse in their sinister golden shimmering, and perhaps the way it caught in the light was enough to convince her to spare them for just a minute longer. This minute would prove pivotal and critical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wait a damn minute, okay? Everybody just wait!” Bow demanded, composing himself once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, “Okay, so Catra, you remember the reformations, right? We didn’t just go around shooting every ex-Horde soldier we could find. Can you imagine if we’d just thrown you in front of a firing squad? Or Hordak? Or Scorpia, even? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s a difference between a genuinely rotten guy like Typhon and a bad guy who know they’ve screwed up and want to change. That’d be someone like you, Catra. Someone like Dee, too. So what do you say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra ran it over a bit in her head, cursed under her breath, and relented. She lowered the gun, spun it, and then holstered it. Shit, Bow was right. She was mad as hell at Dee, and there would be hell to pay for them when all of this was said and done, but she usually saved her bullets for really bad people. Dee might’ve been a bit of a dick, but they might have some spark of decency yet; they did kinda patch Bow up and organize this attack, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. One more body to throw at the mole rats that isn’t mine, at least. But if I hear you call Adora a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore</span>
  </em>
  <span> one more time, you won’t be so lucky,” Catra growled, standing down begrudgingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly,” Dee looked absolutely grateful, though still quite sorrowful, “I always knew what I was doing was wrong, it’s just...y’know how hard it is to be an out of work actor these days? Especially when exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>megacorporation owns every single movie studio? I just wasn’t connected, and I saw an offer for money, and, well, I was good at what I did back in the other wars and--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quit your fucking yammering and go get yourself a gun before I change my mind, creep,” Catra ordered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where am I gonna find a gun? Oh, wait a second,” Dee hit their forehead with their palm, “The guard armory. Breaking in was a cinch before, shouldn’t be too hard now. You remember where it was, Arty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but please don’t keep calling me that in front of--” Bow started, looking a teeny bit shamefaced, only for Dee to cut them off in their panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No time to waste, Arty! Those mole rats are gonna be back any moment! To the armory!” Dee announced dramatically, proceeding to take off in the presumed direction of this fabled armory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow looked at Catra, his friend and fellow Royal Army commander still looking like she was feeling some complex, negative things. The two of them made wordless eye contact, shrugged briefly--presumably in mutual bewilderment at Dee’s knowledge of this place--and then split off for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to have you back, Robocop,” Bow joked as he took off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These mole rats were committing some pretty nasty rowboat-related legal violations. What more can I say?” Catra returned the joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow just snorted at Catra’s obliviousness and headed out for the armory. Catra was happy to see the engineer in one piece, even if that expression didn’t literally apply to him anymore. It was weird, she was always sure she was gonna be the one to get the badass robot arm. She even had lines picked out and everything, both of the bragging and humorous varieties. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Uh oh, looks like I can’t fight anymore, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she would’ve said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been disarmed! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjoying a quick, private chuckle at her own god awful pun, Catra broke off to go and regroup with her other strike team pals. Luckily, Scorpia shouldn’t have been too hard to find at least. The prison was labyrinthine in its vastness, not to mention Kyle and his scouts blended right in with those greyish winter-camo uniforms, but Catra’s scorpioni friend was imposing enough to be visible just about anywhere. And, as luck would have it, she was; it looked to Catra like she’d reconvened with Kyle and his team, too, the six of them gathering on the prison’s ‘A’ level. Knowing that the enemy would surely be on their way back to the prison sooner rather than later, Catra hooked her grappling hook around the railing and rappelled down to the floor below like a spider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slick entrance, wildcat,” Scorpia smiled, looking almost as if she was going to clap her claws, “What took you so long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had a run in with an old acquaintance. Let’s just say your informant and I aren’t strangers to each other,” Catra still felt some resentment for Double Trouble, and it was showing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t sound too happy to be seeing them again, whoever they are,” Kyle commented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long story,” Catra muttered, bitter, “Any sign of the mole rats?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just got word from the shore party. They’re punching through. Guessing that means we’ll have some retreating enemy combatants on our hands soon enough,” Kyle explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, not to mention I reckon they’ll wanna check on their prisoners. Not a very organized bunch, are they?” Scorpia observed, almost like a joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding. Typhon didn’t raise an army so much as he raised a mob,” Kyle joked with more transparency, “Anyway, I think we should probably settle in over here and make our stand. Gonna get ugly, but I think a victory is in the bag at this point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra liked Kyle’s optimism. It was weird, he seemed to be this odd, mercurial cocktail of cynicism, mourning and optimism. It seemed that his time soldiering with the EPG pointed him in directions Catra wouldn’t have thought scientifically possible three years before. He honestly reminded her of herself in a way, though it may have been just the way everyone turned out after getting their feet wet. It was gonna be a tough road from here, but Catra could see herself trusting this little squad to watch her back; she was surrounded by old friends, and they’d all aged like fine wine. There was a facet of Kyle’s plan that seemed a bit too simplistic, however, something which did not take a very important facet into account. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the other prisoners? We can’t just leave them here,” Catra observed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll be safe in their cells. We don’t need a massive prison riot on our hands. Our boys’ll process ‘em once they get here to reinforce us,” Kyle dismissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now hold on a minute--” Catra started, disquieted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, you wanna get through this? You wanna see your boy? Then we stick to the plan, and the plan doesn’t involve letting a bunch of crazed POWs go apeshit. I get that leaving people behind sucks, but at this point we’re more likely to save more of them if they just stay put and let us handle it. You get what I mean?” Kyle ordered, cutting past his squad and standing closer to Catra, waving his hand all the while. She just now noticed that he was still shorter than her, even despite all his muscle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” Catra grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I’m just looking out for us all, okay? I know what happens when people play the hero,” Kyle’s voice went low, “You didn’t see what they did to her, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did to who?” Catra asked, concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, y’see...no, fuck it, nevermind,” Kyle looked as if he was fighting back tears again, “I’m guessing you got General Bowman and the informant out, right? Where are they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sacking the guard armory, looking for guns.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shit, I’m sure someone would’ve leant ‘em a sidearm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think a sidearm is gonna be enough for going up against a big crowd of mole rats?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, touche. We’ll hunker down here then and they can retrace their steps. Shouldn’t be too hard to find us, what with me and Scorpia’s...uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sizable </span>
  </em>
  <span>frames. Am I right or am I right, girl?” Kyle pointed a finger-gun at the scorpioni general.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn straight! And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just sing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ at the top of my lungs. Just like the road trip, right wildcat?” Scorpia slapped Catra’s back with a massive pincer. Catra almost fell over, but she was still smiling despite it all thanks to Scorpia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Don’t think you’re getting a duet outta me, though,” Catra sneered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...If I ask nicely, can I please get a duet?” Scorpia asked, flashing her very best puppy dog eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, what the hell. If I’m gonna die, I’ll die surrounded by friends while I sing off key,” Catra laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hells </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>bro! Get in here! Battle hug time!” Scorpia outstretched her arms. Catra was about to accept the invitation for an embrace, but the two were interrupted by a distant sound; at first it sounded like applause or something frying, but the truth of the sound soon became apparent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marching feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, they’re here!” Kyle spat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, we’ll hug later! Any sign of the others?” Scorpia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afraid not,” Catra looked around, annoyed to find that Bow and Double Trouble still hadn’t returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit, did they have to make this place so fuckin’ flat? No cover! We need to get to higher ground, maybe then--” Kyle attempted to formulate a stratagem, but by then it was already too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first wave of mole rats were upon them in an instant, all of them funnelling out of the door on the other end of the prison in a black sea. The guns clapped and roared almost seconds after the Second Legion grunts appeared, and the shots themselves were strangely disciplined for a so-called mob. Thankfully, the strike team’s discipline was even better. Most of Catra’s armaments weren’t particularly useful at a distance--a few revolver shots managed to connect, but even then the flechettes spread too much to be anything but sloppy--but thankfully she was surrounded by friendly snipers. That, and Scorpia was practically a walking machine gun nest with that ripper gun, sending continuous bursts of rounds this way and that and rocking the ground with tiny gyrojet detonations. That suppression didn’t hold forever, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A handful of the frontal mole rat ranks pushed onwards through the fire, engaging the EPG strike team in close combat. Kyle and his snipers were reduced to tooth-and-nail fighting with combat knives and machine pistol sidearms, but luckily Scorpia and Catra were able to maintain a good amount of close-quarters agro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, these guys are fast. Not fast enough, though!” Scorpia cried as she bludgeoned some oncoming mole rats with the butt of her ripper, “You okay, wildcat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hanging in there,” Catra yelled over the crack of a trenchgun blast, feeling a still-warm spent shell brush past her face as she pumped the close combat weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The melee was chaotic, but manageable. They were a tiny but plucky team, fighting their way through the advancing insurgents one blow at a time while having no cover save for the fallen bodies. With every spent shot, Catra contemplated when the ever-loving shit Bow and Double Trouble were going to return; this contemplation was rudely interrupted as a mole rat bumped into her from the side, blade drawn. They were both disoriented, clearly not expecting to run into each other and eyeing different targets. The enemy soldier didn’t back down, however. Their combat knife was barely half the size of Catra’s sabre, but assuming the bastard fought as dirty as the other mole rats it wouldn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra had about a half second-long window to drop her trenchgun and grab her sabre, but the knife-wielding mole rat didn’t seem too concerned with giving her time to warm up. They lunged forward and tried to grab hold of the Lord Protector, obviously trying to catch her in a grapple and deliver a quick killing blow. Panicked, she threw her trenchgun up across her form in an effort to block the unstable strike, but it did more harm than good. The block was too hurried, too panicked, and the kinetic force of the enemy’s charge combined with the way Catra had slung her weight forward was enough to knock her to the ground. For a split second Catra cursed the realization that she seemed to constantly be getting into tight melee scrapes, but she had hardly a moment to process the epiphany before the mole rat was upon her. Despite being thin enough that their armour appeared loose in places, the Second Legion slasher was surprisingly tough. As the blade pressed closer to Catra’s neck, she found herself hoping that one of her comrades might just take notice of her and come in for an assist. The assist did indeed come, but not from where she expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of auto rifle rounds cut through the mole rat’s carapace like flying pellets of broken glass, sent flying from the shattering impact or some such nonsense. It was a clean kill, thankfully not soaking Catra in gore like all the times Bow had saved her bacon. The shots hadn’t come from Scorpia or Kyle’s position ahead of her, however, but rather from behind her; not to mention neither Scorpia nor Kyle nor any of Kyle’s soldiers were carrying auto rifles, especially not of such an antique calibre that they’d make such a noise when fired. She spun around to perhaps trace this saviour of hers, and found a sight that made her feel bitterly conflicted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, cash kitten?” Dee asked with a shrug, an old reformation-era assault carbine smoking in their lithe hands, “We square?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dee held an outstretched hand out, carrying their gun by the barrel in the other, offering Catra a hand getting up. She was hauling around quite a lot of gear, so it was quite appreciated. She took their hand--maybe with a little begrudging gratitude--and rose to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Dee. We’re square,” Catra groaned, though there was some thankfulness in her words, “As long as we’re only counting today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a start! I’ll take it!” Dee smiled, only to duck as a shot nearly punched through one of their elongated, elf-like ears, “Arty and I brought some deployable shields so y’all can hunker down a bit more. We’re sitting ducks out here, babe, but we’ll make it work. Just hang in there. Now come on, let’s go find that disarmed fellow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, that was my pun, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strike team and their rescued companions eventually reunited, collectively turtling behind a ramshackle barricade of mole rat corpses and hard-light deployable shields that hummed with static as they deflected shot and shell. Even with the barricades, the whole thing was a bloodbath. Luckily, casualties were on the minimal side with only three of Kyle’s snipers being killed. Plus, Bow was a real crack shot with his stolen gun (not quite his usual thing, but he was making it work), and Double Trouble was no slouch either. When the fighting had stopped and the last shots had been fired, the valiant forces of the EPG triumphed, and the feeling was better than any high for Catra. Soon, the forces from the shore party would arrive, sweeping through this place and hopefully locking down the horrible undetonated superweapon lying beneath their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra hopped one of the deployable cover sets, sparking and fizzling from excessive battle damage, and stepped out into the prison again. Dozens of mole rat corpses were underfoot, practically occupying more space than the floor. Already, a handful of reinforcements from the Royal Army group that made it past the beach were dribbling in through the door where the enemy had once entered. Things were basically all clear now, and everything was going according to plan. Catching a security camera out of the corner of her eye, Catra suddenly felt a message for her old rival Typhon coming on; sure, she was gonna probably look a little unhinged, but after all she’d been through would it surprise anyone? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s your best, huh Thaddeus?” Catra rasped, out of breath, “Because if that’s your best, your best won’t do. You tried to take something from me. My lover. My son. My friends. There’s no chance you’re gonna come back from that. So get ready you fascist prick, because I’m coming for you and when I find you, you’d better say all your prayers to Horde Prime. I’m gonna finish this, one way or another.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra shot the camera. Elsewhere in the Fortress, Thaddeus Typhon turned off a dead monitor and felt something between rage and determination. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Greetings EPG citizens. I'm sorry if this one took a little longer to hammer out. To tell the truth, writing massive battles is just not my jam. I think I've just about tortured Catra and her buds enough already. Rest assured though that I exist, I've just been navigating some struggles in life, rekindling my interest in Fire Emblem: Three Houses and now planning for the next semester. I do plan to keep writing though because to tell the truth it brings me an ungodly amount of joy and solace in a vast, uncaring universe. </p><p>Buy war bonds and donate to the frontlines! Give the Lord Protector ammo! </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Go Forth And Dance With The Devil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catra and Typhon meet face to face, perhaps for the last time. Will the Lord Protector bury the past, or find that her luck has run out? The answer might just be somewhere in the middle. The world has changed, and its need for larger-than-life heroes and villains is diminishing, fading into the shades of grey. <br/>Oh, and a word of advice? Beware of the cyclops.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 15: Go Forth And Dance With The Devil </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon waited aimlessly, his mind darting back and forth between all sorts of trap doors and schemes that never would’ve gone anywhere anyway. The light fixture in his quarters was rocked with the force of a distant detonation from within his Tower of Silence, only for the thing to flicker and die. He toyed with the service pistol in his hand for a few tense moments before ejecting the magazine, realizing that option was out of the question. This was his war, his crusade, and somehow it was all coming apart. Still, that didn’t give him an out; he would fight with his loyal disciples until the very end. That much was non-negotiable, not because of any existing law of armed conflict except for the ones he had for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could this be? How could he have disappointed his father like this? Was he even really his father at all, or were they more like one and the same now? What if all of it was simply for nothing, and father had had all of this done in vain? Typhon just couldn’t find answers. Everything was ruined anyway, so answers didn’t exactly matter all that much anymore; they mattered about as much as anything else at this point. Any contemplation he’d engaged in, however, was interrupted by boot heels clacking in the hall outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So this is it, then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Typhon thought to himself. He braced for a charging platoon of Royal Army grunts, but what he got was perhaps even more frustrating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, here we are,” Lord Protector Catra, Typhon’s old rival, stood in the ajar doorway, gun drawn. Just the sight of her made Typhon disgusted. “Hello, Colonel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon felt the servos of his still-cloaked hands, the true ones he kept hidden from the world along with the rest of his form, tighten the limbs into fists. He almost brought one down on his desk hard, but he managed to restrain himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You come into my domain </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you destroy everything I’ve built, you murder my people in systematic droves, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruin </span>
  </em>
  <span>my plan to bring enlightenment to this disgusting, filth-ridden galaxy...I have nothing to say to you,” Typhon hissed, fists clenched so hard they whined pneumatically, “Nothing, that is, except perhaps </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why what?” Catra’s hand twitched above her sabre’s pommel, “Why we had to stop you from unearthing Horde Prime’s doomsday device and committing mass genocide? I think the answer’s obvious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! Why come here? Why come for me? It’s over. You won. If they haven’t claimed the blasted thing already, I have little doubt that your troops will unearth Han-Tyumi shortly and place it in EPG custody. Your business here is concluded. Be off with you,” Typhon spat in frustration and confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The EPG’s business, maybe, but not mine. We still have a score to settle, y’see,” Catra’s hand was on the pommel now. She slipped her revolver away, figuring using it would be simply too easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? What do you want with me, then?” Typhon asked, genuinely bewildered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra’s hand drifted from the pommel to the handle. She drew the blade, flourishing it briefly before holding it off to her side with the blade facing down. With her free hand, she beckoned the Second Legion leader onwards, taunting him. Typhon knew what she was after. It seemed only natural, given all the torment he’d put her through both in this war and the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna hurt you real bad, motherfucker,” Catra growled with morbid excitement. Her desire for vengeance was as passionate as it was evident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Typhon was a bit unsure whether he desired to indulge this...request of sorts. It might’ve been easier just to shoot her, but clearly that didn't work the last time. His personal bodyguards had checked the body multiple times over and had been sure she was dead; if the blood loss didn’t kill her, they had explained, the cold certainly would. Here she was before him, however, still standing in spite of it all. Now they had both cheated death, though Typhon’s evasion had been a work of divine intervention at least. Perhaps the closure of a test like this would be exciting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then. I may be your enemy, Catra, and you may think me a bastard. A bastard I am not, however. I am a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gentleman, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you see, and as such I accept your duel with honour,” Typhon drew his hanger, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Motherfucker.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, now I’ve seen everything. Never figured war criminals cared much for all that honour stuff. And a gentleman? I dunno, pal. When I hear ‘gentleman’, I think of when my good pal Artemis Bowman--you guys met, you cut his arm off and tried to kill him--spends eight hours making a flower arrangement to surprise Queen Glimmer. I don’t think of sad old men who drop nukes on penniless, starving refugees because they feel like it. But hey, what the hell. Let’s do this,” Catra held her sword upright, poised to attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Typhon outstretched his free hand, “Before we begin, there is something I must do. If I am to potentially fall in battle, I wish to die as I truly am. I beseech you, let me shed this disguise for good so you may gaze upon my beauty. Let it be the last thing you see before you--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for the love of the First Ones, dude. Do you always talk like this? Just get on with it,” Catra groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” Typhon smiled a devilish smile, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Witness the majesty of Horde Prime’s craftsmanship in its full glory!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon extended his free hand to his belt, flicking a switch on a small rectangular device and then letting it fall to the floor. His whole body began to fizzle and distort like a mirage, crackling and writhing with green bursts of electricity; when the strange energy field dissipated, Catra felt her bravado turn to something close to terror. Typhon's spry appearance post-Tannhauser made a lot more sense now, given it was all nothing but a cloaking device's illusion. He was really all skin and bone, held together with an elaborate network of archaic cybernetics that riddled his arms, legs and torso; all four of his limbs were mechanical, and his upper chest and neck were occupied by some clunky combination of breathing apparatus and voice modulators. The face, though...the face was the most fucked up part of all. The skin around his face had rotted away so much it looked more like a skull, slit-nose and all, pockmarked in wires and metal plates. His ears had seemingly begun to grow and cauliflower in such a way that they elongated to inhuman lengths, and this spoke nothing of his three emerald-green left eyes; they were all-too-familiar, glowing in the dark like horrid headlamps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? But...but you look just like--” Catra stuttered, trying to piece together just what sort of bizarre simulacrum was staring her down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Catra, I know. When father tasked me with carrying his genetic code around so as to propagate a new Horde race, I simply could not turn him away. The implantation process rotted me from the inside out...warped my body in such exquisite ways...yet it ultimately saved me from death. It was to be my ticket to salvation, the key to unlocking Han-Tyumi and regrowing the Horde race. I feel him in my mind still, like a missing limb,” Typhon looked up to the ceiling for a moment, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you see me now, father?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Sounds like someone’s got some daddy issues. I guess you always were Prime’s favourite, but I never reckoned it went this far,” Catra laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No issues, old friend. I know he loved me until the end,” Typhon’s half-rotted, half-mechanical jaw curled into a smirk, “So what shall it be? Do you join the light or do you die here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra rolled her eyes, tiring of these dramatic antics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, die now or give up and die later? I’ll take die now, thanks,” she raised her sabre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” Typhon raised his hanger with a groan of aging, crude cybernetics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra threw the first blow, hoping to disarm Typhon with a blow to one of his rusting arms. Typhon’s reflexes were horrifically fast, however, as befitting an almost full-body conversion cyborg pumped full of Horde biomass; he blocked the swing with one of his own, arm barely getting scraped, and pulled no punches as he thrust for Catra’s neck. The Lord Protector hurriedly jumped out of the way, backing up too far and bumping into a bookcase. A handful of tomes fell from the top shelf as Catra stumbled and fell, one of which landed in her lap. The title </span>
  <em>
    <span>Moby Dick </span>
  </em>
  <span>was just barely visible in the hazy, sinister glow of Ahriman’s rising sun, further obscured by the room’s half-raised shutters, and while Catra had no familiarity with such a title it still proved an effective shield. The rampaging half-Horde cyborg lunged at Catra and brought his blade down hard, only for his adversary to raise the book up at the last minute and catch his hanger with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That ought to buy me some time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought as she watched Typhon struggle to disconnect the sword from the book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now aiming for Typhon’s stumpy mechanical legs, Catra tried aiming her grappling hook for his ankles and took the shot. It didn’t knock Typhon down to the night sky-black floor as the Royal Army commander would have hoped, but it did stagger him significantly. The grappling hook rewound as Catra rose to her feet, launching a carefully-organized riposte and slashing at Typhon’s whirring, wheezing midsection. Even with Typhon staggered, it was a mere glancing blow, yet it still managed to sever one of the breathing device’s tubes; that definitely set Typhon back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he coughed as he struggled to rise back up, “You’ve taken to fighting dirty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All’s fair in love and war, darlin’,” Catra panted, planning her next move. Now would’ve been a good time for a coup de grace, but there was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>creeping feeling holding her back. “‘Sides, I’ve got a kid on the way. Dying isn’t an option, so I gotta do whatever it takes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you wish,” Typhon rasped, his breathing even more haggard and mechanized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon threw a craven, messy stab with his hanger, sending Catra reeling across the marble floor and into Typhon’s desk as she dodged out of the way. Despite how slippery the maddeningly smooth ground was--only further turned hazardous by the scattered paperbacks all hither and thither--Catra’s reflexes kept her on her feet as a silver-green blur charged at her once again. She brought her sabre up to deflect the cyborg colonel’s slashing, only for the two of them to end up with locked blades. The two kept pushing their swords against each other until Typhon broke Catra’s guard. His parry of choice, however, was utterly devilish; he kicked one rudimentary leg into his rival’s groin, just the same as that crude strategy Bow pointed out months ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Catra cried in searing pain, doubling over and losing so much control she fell back into the desk. The old hunk of mahogany tumbled back, knocking papers into the shadowy room’s air like falling snow and breaking a number of wine glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All’s fair in love and war,” Typhon let out a dry laugh, mirroring Catra’s words, “Isn’t that right, little sister?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain that riddled Catra, both from Typhon’s blows and her subsequent fall, left her tired and unmotivated. She knew she had to finish this mess she started, although she deeply regretted starting this fight in the first place. She’d come so far that the end was in sight, so why on Etheria did she have to go and let her own vendetta get in the way of safe passage home? Yet at the same time, she recalled the true horror of Typhon’s existence, only enhanced by the revelation of his true form. She couldn’t coexist with Typhon, and neither could Adora or Harper. With that in mind, she found some strength within her to transmute her pain into rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m no sister of yours…” Catra snarled as she struggled to her feet, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>...And wouldn’t wanna be!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pounced on Typhon and stabbed at him with feral abandon, sending a flurry of shanks and whirls right towards her longtime enemy. Each blow was a tiny act of vengeance; a strike in the name of how Typhon nearly murdered her, mutilated Bow, smeared Adora and threatened every little fucking thing Catra held dear. Typhon grunted and shouted in confusion and exertion, blocking sloppily as the attacks came so fast he could no longer artfully fight. She brought her blade down again and again until she somehow managed to hit one of his legs with enough force to drive it clean off. There was, ominously, no howl of pain and instead a simple crackle of circuitry. The fight was all but finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you gonna fight now?” Catra taunted, holding the tip of her sabre mere inches away from Typhon’s distorted face...though, it wasn’t really his face anymore. More like a combination of two different faces, neither of which brought Catra much nostalgia at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. Perhaps it’s time I yielded,” Typhon relented, “So, go on then. Finish it. I suppose you’ve earned your revenge, eh Catra?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra nodded, bringing her blade up over her head. A quick strike would be all it took. She was poised to finish it, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why hesitate? Isn’t this what you came for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon was right about that. Catra had indeed wanted this chapter of her life closed, to finally live without fear of Thaddeus Typhon and his schemes. Even now, however, a new possibility was dawning on her. There was no question or doubt in her mind that Thaddeus Typhon was a monster, perhaps in an all too literal sense given the butchered Frankenstein-style rendition of Horde Prime he'd become. Looking back at history seemed to be yielding a sudden epiphany, though. What if the key here wasn’t to kill Typhon? What if there was more to it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Catra lowered her blade slowly, sheathing it, “I won’t kill you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lost your nerve?” Typhon asked, not really sounding like a mockery so much as a genuine question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I’m still mad as hell. You dragged me away from my pregnant girlfriend, you tried to murder me and my best friends, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>successfully </span>
  </em>
  <span>murdered quite a lot of others. But I don’t think killing you will do much good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to you and your followers when Horde Prime died, Thaddeus? What did you do? How’d you react?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typhon sat with the question for a moment. Perhaps he was searching for appropriately dramatic language. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We...held him up like the god he was. We honored his memory, his teachings. We even resurrected him in the form of myself. I carry his spirit, his blood, his memories. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>worshipped </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, in a word.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Catra nodded, “And that’s why you can’t die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just think about it, okay?” Catra offered Typhon her outstretched hand, “You’ll have a lot of time to put two and two together where you’re going, pal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After some very tense hesitation, Typhon eventually accepted the Lord Protector’s invitation of assistance. The old man wasn’t all that heavy; most of his weight seemed to be coming from his robotics, and even then they were flimsy older models that were quite lightweight. Catra still wasn’t entirely sure she made the right call here, adding yet another recorded incidence of her chronic internal conflicts to her memory. Someone needed to be made an example of, however. Someone had to answer for all of this. And when certain groups of people are simply itching for martyrs, perhaps death was not a good way to answer for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Bout time you got here, big shot. Who’s the chromedome?” The dark-skinned woman in the blue bomber jacket asked, an unlit cigarette wedged in her mouth as she leaned against her shuttle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One, don’t even think about lighting that dart, General. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>quit and I think your spray bottle would somehow be less annoying. Two, this is our good pal Colonel Thaddeus Typhon, or what’s left of him anyway,” Catra explained as she dragged Typhon towards Netossa’s shuttle, the crisp air of an Ahriman sunrise nipping at all three of them. The Royal Air Force’s co-commander could fly pretty much anything to anywhere, but landing a shuttle on the roof of an enemy’s base of operations was nonetheless quite the feat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit! </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> him? That’s the Martyr?” Netossa asked, putting her cigarette away before she could light it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I’m not a martyr anymore,” Typhon said, defeated, as Catra walked him across the snow-soaked rooftop landing pad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you never really were,” Catra observed with a wry chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Catra neared the shuttle, the small craft’s idling thrusters yielded a little warmth among the frigid weather. Snow falling around the craft melted midair and turned into muck on the surrounding concrete and gravel. Netossa couldn’t seem to get her eyes off the shriveled old cyborg in the tattered trenchcoat, looking utterly appalled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d be dead by now,” Netossa told Typhon, full of venom and shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As did I,” Typhon sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Netossa just shrugged as Catra passed the Second Legion’s leader off to her. Catra wasn’t worried about Typhon causing a stir on the shuttle. A one-legged, half-lunged, beaten-up octogenarian versus a bevy of trained soldiers whom he wronged, all packed into a tight space, probably didn’t have the odds in his favour. Besides, Netossa was one of the best pilots in the ‘verse. She had it covered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take it from here. The rest of your squad and the two prisoners are aboard, too,” Netossa explained as she grabbed Typhon’s cuffed wrists, “Oh, and another thing. Someone wanted to speak with you. In private. Dunno who, I just know they wanted you to call ‘em on this thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Netossa chucked a strange, sleek communicator model at the Lord Protector, who naturally caught it with ease. Those cat reflexes were good for more than just showing Adora a good time. Catra seemed a little confused as to why anyone would want to speak with her, or why they’d want to keep it quiet. She hoped it wasn’t bad news. If anything happened to Adora and Harper...if some assassin made it into Glimmer’s castle...she’d never forgive herself for not being there. She just stood there for a moment, looking into the powered-off black screen of the device with bewilderment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before I go, Catra, let me leave you with one last bit of advice,” Typhon called to her, “I wasn’t alone. Trust no one. Beware of the cyclops. For the First Ones’ sake, beware of the cyclops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, grandpa, that’s enough,” Netossa grumbled, shoving Typhon into the back, “I’ll be waiting in the shuttle for when you’re done, Catra. Just give me a shout.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra nodded to Netossa, barely lifting her eyes from the device. Once she heard the sound of the shuttle doors closing and she was sure she was alone, she clicked the communicator’s power button. The screen didn’t turn on or blink, however. Instead, it glowed with cobalt light for a moment before sending a whirlwind of holographic static into the air. Catra almost dropped the damn thing in surprise, watching as the projections morphed into the familiar arrow-D of Dryl Industries. That was about when Catra figured out who this mystery party seeking palaver was, only further confirmed when a holographic projection of her cyberized form appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Protector! My friend! Bravo on the big win! I imagine it’s back home to Adora and the tyke now, isn’t it?” Entrapta asked, voice garbled by the transmission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually. Feels almost too good to be true,” Catra sighed, “What the hell do you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to be so aggressive, my dear. I just have a little favor to ask,” Entrapta trilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, brother, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I’ve been following your mission with great interest like the good Etherian citizen I am. I hear you’ve unearthed a rare prototype Horde genome bomb, and I have a little proposition for you. Take this device down to the bomb and attach it directly to that big beautiful thing. The device is magnetized and should fit like a glove. Once it’s tagged, my guys will know where to pick it up. Sound good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra’s brow furrowed. There wasn’t a chance she was ever going to trust Dryl with Han-Tyumi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Han-Tyumi is going into EPG custody for disassembly. It’s not yours,” Catra restrained her outrage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I was a little nervous you’d say that, but just hear me out, okay? Han-Tyumi is indeed a weapon designed to cause planet-wide destruction, and that’s bad of course. </span>
  <em>
    <span>However, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I could find a way to restructure the weapon’s programmed purpose, it could be refitted as a terraformer that could transform planets in </span>
  <em>
    <span>days! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Think of the possibilities--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not for sale, one-eye. Period.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? We haven’t even talked about rewards. Everyone likes rewards, right? Name your price.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The price is it’s not for sale. Non-negotiable, all sales final. Now get outta here and let me go home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta paused, fumfering anxiously. Catra swore she heard her curse under her breath. The CEO fumbled a rather fancy-looking cigarette into her mouth, lighting it with an attachment on her assistive limbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why the hell is everybody smoking today? Fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, wincing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Catra, when I initially had Colonel Typhon rebuilt and put him up in this dig site, I never figured he’d get to keep the bomb for himself. Luckily the EPG’s pretty much in my pocket, so I assumed they’d hand it over to me once they saw the money. I guess </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>were the unplanned variable all along, though,” Entrapta said with restrained frustration between drags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, what? What did she mean? Catra replayed the sentence over and over again in her head, trying to determine what the hell any of that meant. She never trusted Dryl, but...no, that couldn’t ever be right. It seemed completely absurd. That was when something clicked in her head, though, something that left no room for doubt anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beware of the cyclops. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta had one remaining eye and one cybernetic one. One eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you were behind this?” Catra asked, almost verging on disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bravo!” Entrapta clapped a slow, sarcastic clap, “Aren’t you just a fucking master detective? What, you thought this idiotic mob of inbred redneck trash could’ve led itself? You thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Typhon </span>
  </em>
  <span>could’ve done it, in all his disfigured fucked-up glory? No way. They needed a leader, and while I cared not for their politics, they were useful enough for achieving my goals. Shame your paranoia has thrown a wrench into my plan, however.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many people are dead now because of you, Entrapta? Millions? All this because you wanted some fancy toy?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what? Mother of all omelettes here, Catra. We’ve had three fucking years of expansion and we’ve barely tapped the vastness of human potential. Mankind should </span>
  <em>
    <span>own </span>
  </em>
  <span>the stars by now, but it doesn’t. Between the terraforming I can get out of Han-Tyumi and my clone armies, Dryl is our best shot at owning the stars. For Dryl to succeed, people had to die. But hey, it’s all good! I got my bomb--or thought I would at least--and you got to be a hero! Everybody got something! Capitalism, baby!” Entrapta explained, wide-eyed and full of enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be a hero. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a hero. I’m a murderer, and I didn’t want to be one anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, now, no need to be modest! Look, just take the device to the bomb and you’ll get your retirement with your family! Come on!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta laughed. It wasn’t her usual cute, nasally, dorky laugh, though. It was malevolent, sinister, angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are making a huge mistake, Catra. You are going to doom this whole society you helped build to mediocrity. I hope you know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who gives a damn about mediocrity or greatness? I just want to be happy,” Catra practically shouted, “And why are you even telling me this shit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because no one is going to believe you. Even if they did, you would never walk away from it alive. I would not spare a single one of the people you hold dear, you know-nothing ingrate. Even the boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never told you I was having a boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t have to.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra felt a lump in her throat. She was furious and terrified and completely full of dread. Entrapta thought she could just waltz in here, demand access to a mindlessly destructive superbomb, and threaten Catra’s family on top of it all? The worst part was that the CEO absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>get away with it. Catra wasn’t willing to risk Adora or Harper for the sake of integrity, not in a million years. Plus, she’d already made her mind up about revenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...if that’s the way it has to be, then I won’t blow your cover,” Catra sighed, “You’re still not getting Han-Tyumi, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra, wait, let’s be civil about this--” Entrapta started in a panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Entrapta,” Catra raised her bootheel up and brought it down </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the hologram communicator, silencing the Dryl CEO and true Second Legion mastermind. Entrapta’s simulated image fizzled and died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lord Protector stood in the snow for a long, long time, contemplating what the hell just happened. Even without exposing the truth, she was still afraid for the wellbeing of everyone in her life. She was thankful Adora was who she was. If Entrapta did decide to come for their family, whatever the reason, they would at least be ready. Still, it was distressing that her happy ending had to be so bittersweet, so mired in paranoia and possibility for ruin. Well, even if anyone tried to hurt a hair on Harper’s head, they’d likely take a giant sword to the neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Lord Protector Catra to Charlie squad. You folks still guarding the dig site?” Catra called up a segment of the shore team on her microbead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Charlie-1. Yeah, we’re by the bomb. Why?” A soldier’s voice crackled over the comm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get it out of here as fast as you can. Do it now. I don’t care what it takes. And when you do, get it as far away from any civilized system as possible. That is a direct order,” Catra demanded in a stern but blank tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But--” the soldier started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just go. Please. I dunno how much time we have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Understood, Lord Protector. We’ll get on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra didn’t even bother with a ‘copy that’ or whatever. She had all the confirmation she needed. Still shaken from the borderline eldritch realizations she’d just been exposed to, she steeled herself and hurried towards the shuttle. Hopefully she’d done enough. Hopefully it wasn’t too late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Entrapta shouted a long string of creative, colourful curses, pounding a balled-up lock of her tentacle-like hair into her desk. It was close. It was so close. She had infinity in the palm of her hand and eternity in an hour. Now it had slipped from her grasp once again. Sure, she could dispatch some PMC to go get the bomb, but that would’ve been too obvious; one whistleblower would be all it took to bring her empire to the ground, with word of Dryl trying to steal Horde weaponry surely being a firestorm in progress. Basically, it was all fucked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There came a knock at Entrapta’s door, snapping her out of her rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” she took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her professional veneer, “Come in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slowly nudged open. Kevin entered the office, dressed down from his usual formal attire. That seemed unusual to Entrapta, given Kevin’s scheduled shift wasn’t at its conclusion yet. Yet here he was, dressed in sweatpants and a pink t-shirt with some EDM band’s logo on it. Not exactly the uniform of a high-end server and barista. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t recall ordering anything, Kevin,” Entrapta said, now adding confusion on top of her frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Missus Weyland. I’m gay, not senile,” Kevin laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, what do you want, then?” Entrapta pondered, feeling short on patience and even shorter on her ability to maintain professionalism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just come to let you know I’m resigning. The formal letter should be in your Ethermail inbox by now. While we’re here, though, I wanted to let you know I’m actually thinking of starting a business of my own. I am also, naturally, looking for investors,” Kevin explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entrapta frowned, put her palms to her face, and took another deep breath. Well, this was pretty stupid, but she needed a cutesy distraction right about now anyway. Maybe Catra was right. Greatness might’ve been a little overrated, so why not just have a little fun instead? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what the hell. I just lost out on a big deal. Tell me your secrets, o budding entrepreneur of mine,” Entrapta smiled thinly, clasping her hands on her desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin smiled, nodded, and started to recount his little scheme. Entrapta listened, found herself smiling at Kevin’s optimism, and for a while forgot about any planet-wide conquest. People were all just these silly little creatures, running about looking for their next meal, their next fuck, their next little shot of dopamine. It was endearing in a way. Maybe greatness was closer to the mundane than Entrapta thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for a moment, the CEO felt a great deal of internal pain at what she’d done. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Big thanks to my good pal and resident AM superfan PwiPwiPoo for beta reading the sword duel between Catra and Typhon. They're in the midst of writing a really fun, lewd and altogether sweet AU fanfic called "Finding Her" in which Adora is trans and I cannot recommend it enough, it's amazing. Back to me, writing violence sucks, dude. You're getting cute shit for the rest of the fic. Deal with it. Also I hope the big twist at the end didn't seem too ridiculous. To be honest, I kind of wanted it to feel a bit uncomfortable and out of nowhere. I like that shit, I thrive on big dumb contrived storytelling. It might not be intelligent, but goddamn is it fun, and at the end of the day, isn't it better to be happy than to be great? </p><p>For the love of all that is holy, BEWARE OF THE CYCLOPS! </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Light At The End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catra is finally home, reunited with Adora at last. Things are finally looking up for her and her comrades, and she's still reeling at the thought that her and Adora are actually going to get their shot at settling down. Bow is feeling a little nervous about how Glimmer is going to react to his new arm. Dee, committed to making amends, takes an unlikely interest in both a new acquaintance and a new career path. Also, an unexpected change in locales might be on the horizon in Catra and Adora's future planning.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fellow EPG citizens, </p><p>This chapter and all the adorable antics within will probably be the last update I make for a while. The remaining planned segments of the story are all a little holistic, and as a result I want to finish all of them and then post them en masse. They'll be a bit less wordy than my usual oeuvre, not to mention aggressively heartwarming. So you have that to look forward to, but it might be a while. Just a little warning. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter; why not also check out my friend's fic Finding Her as well? </p><p>Take care, </p><p>S_L_H</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 16: Light at the End </b>
</p><p>
  <span>"They end up getting those weird metal things out of your chests, Robin Hood?" Catra asked. It felt so very odd to be back home on Etheria again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. I'm told it was a delicate procedure, but I imagine they're gonna have to do it to a lot of people," Bow explained, briefly bringing his remaining meat arm to the place in his chest where the mole rats had put his heart plug. Thank goodness that grisly thing was out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta say, getting a hole drilled into my heart and being implanted with some sort of torture-porn machine isn’t the weirdest thing anyone’s ever done to me. Or even the meanest, to be honest,” Double Trouble observed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even wanna know…” Bow laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three veterans of the Ahriman Front walked along the passenger boarding bridge’s metal floor, eager to get home. Even Double Trouble, who’d been bouncing between small-time frontier towns and various colony worlds for the past three years, was excited to see Bright Moon. Bow and Catra weren’t thinking much of the capitol itself, however. Instead, their minds were completely focused on the people they were coming home to. This whole thing felt like one giant Best Friends Squad reunion, perhaps not at all dissimilar from a band getting back together after a hiatus. Catra was just relieved that she’d be back with Adora, though, and could finally say it was over. Maybe settling down for good was finally a real possibility, and just thinking about how settling down meant doing so with both Adora and Harper filled her with genuine excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them found Glimmer on the other side of the bridge, instantly recognizable in her regal purple dress; this didn’t make a lot of sense given the crowds of purple-uniformed foot sloggers pouring into the starport, but her outfit</span>
  <em>
    <span> was</span>
  </em>
  <span> brighter and fresher than their fatigues. She was clearly treating today like a very special day, and rightfully so. Even Catra admittedly thought her Queen was beautiful, albeit not nearly as beautiful as Adora. Her girlfriend didn’t seem to be here yet, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bow! Catra! I’m over here!” Glimmer called, having to raise her voice drastically over the hustle and bustle of the starport and all its other reunions. Good thing she was awfully adept at yelling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glimmer! Honey! So good to see you!” Bow ran over to his significant other, the two embracing for a fitting length of time and sharing a warm kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Glimmer asked when they broke off their reuniting moment, pointing to Bow’s new arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, this? Yeah, I forgot to tell you. I lost a sword fight with an evil cyborg dude. It’s all good, though, because now I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>cyborg dude!” Bow laughed nervously. He hadn’t forgotten the anxiety he had around how Glimmer might react to his injury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer didn’t seem too upset about the new arm, however. She just giggled at Bow’s awkward little joke the same way she </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>giggled at his jokes. She seemed her usual self, and that usual self adored Bow unconditionally. Bow still seemed a little timid, though. That was pretty weird seeing as how he was usually a fairly outgoing, confident guy, but this was still a pretty big change in his life wrapped up in trauma. Being self conscious about the arm seemed only natural. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, lucky you. I have a soft spot for those,” Glimmer joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re not mad, uncomfortable, upset, anything?” Bow asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not! Why would I be?” Glimmer seemed absolutely flabbergasted, snickering in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just...I bet my fingers are all cold now, and that’d be gross, y’know?” Bow stammered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer sighed and shook her head, smiling with substantial warmth. She took hold of Bow’s bionic hand with hers, holding on tight. Slowly, she guided the metal limb to her cheek, letting it rest there for a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t feel cold to me,” Glimmer murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Awesome! I-I’m happy to hear that!” Bow stuttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In fact, while we’re here…” Glimmer trailed off, getting this weird look in her eyes Catra swore she recognized from somewhere. The mauve monarch pulled Bow in close for a moment, cupping her hands over his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer whispered...</span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>into her lover’s ear for quite some time. All the while, Bow was making little flustered fumfering noises and getting red in the face. For a while, the conversation remained a mystery, but it didn’t take long for Catra and Dee to put two and two together. Anyone with an Etherinet connection knew about all the mischief you could get up to with a little high-tech chrome. Dee themselves had literally tried to bring it up to ease Bow’s mind regarding his relationship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...whoa...okay. Y-yeah, okay. And you…?” Bow tripped over the words, looking redder than a tomato and keeping his arms folded tightly to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mhm,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” was all Glimmer replied with, the soft, short vocalization dripping innuendo like liquid honey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-right!” Bow glanced at his reptilian outlaw pal, “Dee, can I speak to you in private for a sec?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you!” Catra and Dee both said in unison, then looking at each other as if to say ‘jinx, you owe me a beer’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up...Anyway, can I?” Bow asked, still looking flustered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, love. Let ol’ Double Trouble get you fixed up,” Dee promised with a wry wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect! You’re my own personal Jesus Christ when it comes to tech, as usual.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make it weird, Arty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This conversation’s about to get a whole lot weirder. Better prepare for the storm,” Bow snarked, “I’ll catch you gals later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry back, babe,” Glimmer continued to be aggressively playful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow and Dee snuck off, leaving the Queen and the Lord Protector to catch up. Catra wasn’t at all afraid of having a shortage of topics. She’d pretty much made up her mind about Glimmer’s writing gig offer, and of course she had plenty of questions about Adora’s whereabouts. The two of them had plenty to discuss. Catra didn’t feel at all awkward about what had just happened, either; even if she could make educated guesses about it, it wasn’t really her business or something that made her uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s--” Catra started, only for Glimmer to seemingly read her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora just went to use the bathroom. Pregnancy. You know how it is,” Glimmer explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>personally </span>
  </em>
  <span>know from, like, experience or nothing, but I catch your drift,” Catra snorted, “Sparkles, I just wanted to give you an update on where I’m at with the food critic thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Yeah, I was hoping we’d get to talk about it! How’s it feel now that you’re back from the line of duty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shitting me? I almost died. Multiple times, actually. Killed a lotta people, too. I think I’m about ready to call it quits with this life and move on,” Catra felt some internal disturbance at just how casually she fired all that awful shit off, “Wanna set a good example for my kid, y’know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...yeah, of course. Totally. So, does this mean you’ll do it?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you want me to spell it out for you? Duh, yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alrighty then,” Glimmer laughed, “I’ve made some phone calls to a couple of places, asked about openings. You’ll have your pick of the litter. If you’re worried about your writing chops, I know Bright Moon U is offering some pretty good courses in the field. You could probably telecommute, too. Work through the Etherinet. Gives you plenty of time with Adora and the little guy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That…” Catra felt herself go blank, numb and in shock at just how surreal a cushy offer like that was after all she’d been through, “...Sounds perfect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awesome! I’ll keep you posted as we go, then. Oh, and you’ll still maintain your Lord Protector rank, we’ll just have you put in reserves for now. You can let us know if you’re ever comfortable in the field again, but for now consider yourself on an indefinite leave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the doughboys? Who’ll lead them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meh. We just had a war. I imagine there’ll be no shortage of heroes. No shortage of patriots. We’ll find someone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I dunno if I care much for heroes anymore…” Catra lamented. She still remembered her realizations, her reasoning for why she’d spared Typhon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” Glimmer sighed, “A lot’s gonna have to change around here. You know that, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have to tell me twice, Sparkles,” Catra nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two were interrupted by a white-gold blur suddenly butting into their little meetup. She emerged from the crowds so fast, yet Catra would’ve recognized her anywhere. Catra was certainly also glad to see her lover moving about so spryly despite her continued pregnant state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Glimmer! Sorry about the wait. The lineup was killer,” Adora stopped to catch her breath, then looked up and saw Catra, finally back from the war; the second their eyes met, she looked like she was either going to burst into tears or grin from ear to ear, “Well, look who’s back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra gave a curt nod to Adora. She felt as if she had so much she needed to say to the Princess, and yet none of the words were forming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I will leave you two lovebirds alone for now. Bet you’ve got some lost time to make up for!” Glimmer said as she headed off to address business elsewhere. Probably off to go find Bow and that alluring new limb of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’all wanna grab a drink later, Sparkles?” Catra brandished a clawed finger gun at the exiting Glimmer, “Gin, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Glimmer smiled, “Bourbon, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ A, you purple bastard,” Catra nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And something non-alcoholic for me, too!” Adora chimed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely! On me!” Glimmer agreed, then headed back off to give Catra and Adora some privacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra wanted to open her mouth and have some profound confession of love spill out. Really, she did. It wouldn't have been the first time, that was for certain. Words weren't coming, though, and to tell the truth they weren't needed. Adora's eyes said enough, accompanied by her expression and body language. Catra knew she was sending all the same signals, completely paralyzed with the utter surreal joy of being reunited with her lover and their son-to-be. Still, she tried her hand at breaking the silence (silence here being used very loosely, seeing as how the air was abuzz with chatter, footfalls and returning or departing ships). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, hey Adora--” Catra started, only to be silenced in the most delightful way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora jumped into Catra’s arms and passionately kissed her, not even wasting a single moment with pleasantries. She was always someone who spoke with total frankness, a level of flat bluntness that pulled not a single punch. It wasn’t just in her words either, evidently; it extended to her actions as well, always meeting every challenge head on. The kiss felt like it lasted even longer than the war, and it was twice as emotionally charged to boot. When the two finally finished, Catra felt so completely stricken with love and longing that she almost fell over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow…” she gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ruin it,” Adora snarked, pulling Catra into a vice grip of a hug. The still-healing wound in Catra’s gut throbbed and stung briefly for a moment, but she could hardly tell. All that mattered was Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you’ve gotten so big,” Catra remarked with a dry laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna let that one slide because I missed you so much,” Adora had a laugh herself, “That’s like number one on the list of things </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say to a pregnant person, hun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Aw, no! Why does this keep happening? N-no, look, there’s nothing wrong with your body. I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just look at those arms! </span>
  </em>
  <span>What I mean is--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, kitten. Just teasing you. I think Harper’s the one who got big, technically,” the Princess put a hand over her belly, her arms still indeed well-muscled. She’d kept up on her training as best she could despite the pregnancy. “In fact, I think he’s kicking right now. Quite the eager little guy. Wanna feel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god would I ever!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra practically wheezed out with excitement. She’d been looking forward to moments like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora gently took hold of Catra’s wrist and brought her lover’s hand to rest on her rounded belly. Something--well, more accurately, someone--was definitely budging in there. It was such a weird, pivotal, mind-shattering moment for Catra. There was a new life here, one that Catra and Adora had nurtured and created by their very selves. Of all the twists and turns Catra’s life had taken over the course of this year, this one never ceased to be the craziest of all. That new life would be in the world soon, too, give or take a few more months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...whoa. Holy shit,” Catra started to let out a high-pitched, giddy laugh of disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hurts a bit, but it’s worth it,” Adora smiled, clearly taking notice of Catra’s utter awestruckness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah, I bet! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra’s head was spinning and her heart felt like mush, “Speaking of hurting, how’s this whole thing treating you? You holding up okay? I bet it’s pretty crazy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meh. You know I can take a beating,” Adora shrugged, “The worst part was all the pineapple pizza, I’d say. Oh God, I ate </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too much of that garbage!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got your cat mom’s impeccable taste, huh H-bomb? A real chip off the ol’ block…” Catra crouched for a moment, seemingly addressing the small person in Adora’s belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>H-bomb? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, kitten,” Adora groaned, rolling her eyes. She found it pretty endearing deep down that Catra was already giving their kid pet names, but she would never admit it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank goodness. There you are,” the reunited lovers were interrupted by an unexpected voice, one with a modest swagger of sophistication. The two women spun around to see a Horde clone in a Depeche Mode shirt, sporting a neat, green and silver undercut with matching green stud earrings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey. Kevin, right? Listen, we’re kinda in the middle of something--” Catra started to address her business partner (well, sort of business partner; it hadn’t really been discussed much over the course of the war). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s okay. Let him talk. This is the cafe guy, right?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At your service, your ladyship! Such a pleasure to meet you! Oh, wait, we met in the last war. Forgive me, my liege, I am just </span>
  <em>
    <span>spacing out </span>
  </em>
  <span>today!” Kevin explained, giggling at his own error, “Lord Protector, a word?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cockalaurum,” Catra said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I mean, a moment of your time?” Kevin asked a second time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. You’ve got sixty seconds, go,” Catra insisted, really playing this bit to death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not like--” Kevin gave an exasperated snort, “This is going to be fun, I can feel it. Look, I quit Dryl and I’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>most </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the paperwork done for the startup. Before I left, however, I spoke to Entrapta about getting some VC. She’ll help us start up, but she wants a good 30% of the business. That sound okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Didn’t that just beat all? The merchant of death wanted to try her hand at being a restaurateur. All this time and blood expended trying to chase the Holy Grail of WMDs, and suddenly she’d decided to just settle on chasing paninis instead. Catra surmised that at least this way, Entrapta would stay out of trouble. Maybe she’d even had a bit of a change of heart. If it could happen to Catra when it came to revenge, surely it could happen to Entrapta when it came to pushing scientific boundaries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. Guess if she switches tracks to coffee and muffins, she’ll have less time to build bombs,” Catra joked, concealing genuine malice in her humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you said it. I’m quite over the insipid war business, if I do say so myself,” Kevin nodded, “You know, it’s funny, she actually wanted 45% initially. Once I mentioned you, however, she backed off a little.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Catra thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You afraid of me or something, Cyclops? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy to be of service,” Catra sneered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes. Quite convenient, really. So you’re still in?” Kevin checked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Scuse me, hi, sorry Kevin,” Adora suddenly stepped between the two, “I’m not sure if you can tell, sir, but Catra and I are about to have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>son. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t mean to shove a She-Ra-sized fist into your dreams, but does this grand plan you and Catra cooked up leave room for that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m a little concerned about that too, to be honest. What about my boy, Kev?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you needn't worry. I completely understand. You'll have time with your family, I'll make sure of it. I suppose we could take a portion of our funding and hire a few people to help out. Payment probably wouldn’t be much, though, so we would need to find someone so desperate for work that they would do positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything--</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kevin was abruptly cut off as someone returned from their aside, someone whose arrival represented what some might call dramatic irony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m back! Arty’s another satisfied customer, though technically I’m just sending the credits along,” Double Trouble announced, then froze as they noticed Kevin’s presence. They hadn’t actually met before, so that made some sense. “Oh my, who’s this little sprig of mint?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kevin. A business partner of the Lord Protector as she makes her first culinary forays. How do you do?” Kevin held a well-manicured hand out for Double Trouble to shake. They snatched it with astounding eagerness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hello! My name’s Dee, and I am very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> available,” the androgynous bounty hunter blurted out, only to briefly freeze up after realizing what they just let slip, “Joking, of course! That was a joke! If it wasn’t a joke that would be weird! Can you imagine how weird it would be if it wasn’t a joke? I sure can, and it would be very weird indeed! Ehehehehehe!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a little confused, yet your eccentricity is bizarrely endearing,” Kevin smiled awkwardly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gosh, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly </span>
  </em>
  <span>quite a few syllables. You must be, like, a scholar or a writer or something. That’s so--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin and Dee’s pleasantries were cut off as Catra loudly cleared her throat. She wanted everyone to get back on track, of course, so she could spend more time on Adora and less on business. She quickly flashed Adora a quizzical look, suddenly forming a new plan. Adora just sort of shrugged, not really catching on. Still, Catra recalled Dee’s lamentation of their professional life with vivid fervour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Dee, you’re still looking for work, right?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I am, aren’t I?” Dee said with a discouraged look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are your barista skills?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, well, I was a bartender for a bit. Can’t be much different from that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you like to work for Kevin and I at our cafe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dee looked at Catra with a weak smile, then at Kevin with a slightly larger, flustered one. This felt like a chance at forgiveness, a way to begin again and really get clean this time. Not to mention working for them would give Dee a chance to get to know this cute stranger, this Kevin fellow. They could easily see themselves serving up macchiatos and misspelling names between auditions. Maybe get a crummy studio apartment in one of the Stations, grow a succulent on the window sill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, yeah, I’d love to,” Dee nodded, doing a superb job at containing their enthusiasm, “Where do I send the CV?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That won’t be necessary. You caught us at a good time. Consider yourself hired,” Kevin reassured Dee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fabulous!” Dee was agape with surprise and joy, “Y’all won’t regret this! I’m a changed enby! Gonna be making coffee that’ll knock your socks off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four shared a quick, endeared laugh. Everyone was feeling like this represented a new dawn, a new path. It was exciting and a little nerve-wracking, as was the case for any new beginning. Catra finally felt like she was getting a true fresh start, one where the blood and death and anger of the past could finally be buried. She looked at Adora, hands clasped around her belly, and noticed just how radiant she looked in that white-gold dress. She was like a valkyrie, rescuing them all from the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have but one more inquiry before I leave. Any thoughts about location?” Kevin asked Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I live in Station 9, so I guess that would be my first choice. Not exactly prime real estate, though. Place is kind of tiny,” Catra explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to mention most of the town only goes to the same three places to eat. No one new in town lasts,” Adora commented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm...That does complicate matters. Setting up in Dryl territory or in Bright Moon would likely get us swamped by competition, so that rules it out…” Kevin put a hand to his chin in speculation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The location problem plagued the Horde clone with uncertainty. It could always get figured out later, of course, but he at least wanted to get some rough ideas. That’s when Kevin noticed an advertisement on a nearby telescreen, nestled between two endless time tables of ship arrivals and departures. A stylized Royal Army soldier, clutching the pegasus-laden banner of the EPG, beckoned onlookers onwards amidst a ruined city. The caption was almost poetic in its idealism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>THE EPG NEEDS YOU! BEGIN AGAIN AND RECLAIM OUR LOST TERRITORIES AT STATION 17! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know…” Kevin smirked, “...I might know a place.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi again, </p><p>So as you probably can guess, I ship Double Trouble and Wrong Hordak/Kevin for some reason. I know I've established that Kevin is a gay boy and Double Trouble is nonbinary so it probably doesn't make a ton of sense at a glance, but I'm firmly in the camp of NB gays/lesbians existing and gays/lesbians being able to date nonbinary people in turn. Not trying to cause a stir, I just think they're cute together and Kevin is still young and figuring himself out so who knows, maybe he's open to some things he didn't anticipate. I christen this ship Green Beans. Hope I start something. </p><p>Best, </p><p>S_L_H</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Cat's In The Cradle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the early hours of the morning, Catra and Adora are awoken by a somewhat expected surprise. Emotions are running wild, and Catra butts heads with a very strict Royal Midwife. Her and Adora's happy ending might be in sight, but there just might be some hurdles to go over first. After all, she is the last of her kind, a superhuman the likes of which hasn't been seen by Etherian society in millennia. That certainly does present a medical dilemma. Regardless, you bet she's tough enough to overcome any obstacle...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 17: Cat’s In The Cradle </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra? Catra, I need you to wake up,” Adora whispered, her voice sounding a bit like she was in a hurry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lover’s tone was enough to put Catra mildly on edge, but these stupid Bright Moon beds were just so damn comfy. Catra wanted to go back to the Station 9 house and start prepping for the big move, maybe chat with Scorpia and Perfuma about what life was like in their budding burg, but Adora insisted on staying in Bright Moon; closer to all her doctors, she had said, and she wanted the old Best Friends Squad to all be there for Harper’s birth. Eventually Catra relented, partially because of the opulence of the beds. It was like sleeping on a big marshmallow. That basically summed up why Catra really did not want to get out of bed, despite Adora’s urgency. There’d been a lot of restlessness in the night as the big day approached, and every time they’d gone through the same sort of thing. Love for a good sleep was certainly among Catra’s most prominent cat-like features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Hey, Adora…” Catra mumbled out, barely awake. She took a moment to scratch one of her ears before turning over to face her lover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra, I think my water just broke,” Adora stated, almost panicked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, s’alright, we’ll get you a new one. Let’s go back to bed, mkay?” Catra drawled, eyes still shut. Then it hit her. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that did make logical sense. It had been about nine months since they did the deed, after all. Marshmallow beds would have to wait. Catra was definitely wide awake now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Adora spat, rightly full of anxiety. As Catra’s mismatched eyes finally opened, she saw just how tense her lover looked, even if the way her hair was tousled looked incredibly silly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” the Lord Protector was bolt upright and making her way out of bed as fast as her legs could carry her, “I’ll get Sparkles, get the midwife--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just hurry!” Adora hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t worry, if he’s anything like me I’m sure he’ll be pretty fast on his feet. I bet this’ll all be over before you can say--” Catra tried easing the Princess’ mind, getting ready to head out and grab the necessary help by throwing on her bathrobe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Catra!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Adora hollered, the voice raising catching Catra off guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right! Sorry!” Catra blurted out, mind awash with a bazillion different worries and things to remember as she headed for the door, communicator in hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is the other mother?” a gaunt woman with wirey spectacles and a dark brown pixie cut, clad in a set of purple-and-gold scrubs, asked as she pointed to Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep! This is our very own Lord Protector Catra, Adora’s lovely better half. She just got back from the Ahriman Front two months ago,” Glimmer explained, looking about as bedraggled as everyone else in the room not wearing medical gear. The Queen looked regal as fuck in her oversized magenta sleep shirt and matching fuzzy pajama pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew I’d seen your face on a propaganda poster somewhere. Then again, not many magicats left these days,” the glasses lady said, holding a hand out, “Name’s Sabine, Royal Midwife. Pleased to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, likewise,” Catra, still quite sleepy and getting more and more nervous by the minute, shook Sabine’s hand with a dead-fish grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sabine here delivered me when I was born. You can count on her,” Glimmer reassured Catra, seemingly detecting her fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just starting out back then, but yeah, I was there when the royal puffball herself was born. Hope that helps. You’re sweatin’ bullets, Lord Protector. You okay?" Sabine asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That, and Melog's going crazy," Glimmer pointed to the space near Catra's feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me--" Catra felt something brush past her leg, looking down to find her otherworldly feline companion, still sticking around after he helped reach Adora during the war. His fur was ruffled and he was making some distressed mews. “Hey, pal. You gotta learn to stop sneaking up on me like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra bent down and gave her interstellar friend a quick scratch behind his ears. His blank blue eyes, eerie bottomless voids that were still full of worry, shut for a minute as he ceased his mewling for a moment. Melog’s unease was a total dead giveaway, of course. Catra was indeed freaking out internally, and maybe even externally. Her tail whipped back and forth endlessly, and her own fur was starting to stick up a bit in places; the only difference between her and Melog right now was that she was a bit quieter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys got this, right?” Catra looked at Sabine, trying to keep her cool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, of course. It’s my job. The rest of my entourage are good at what they do too, though I like to think I lend a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>je ne sais quoi </span>
  </em>
  <span>you can’t get from a regular doc,” Sabine started, then put a finger to her lips, “The Princess’ medical records showed some...uh, quirks, though. Two hearts, bone density abnormalities, something that looked like a Manticore’s gland...only one species in the ‘verse with a profile like that, but that’s--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save the theatrics, doc. My girl’s a First One. You don’t have to tell me,” Catra started, the concealment of her anxiety starting to wear thin, “Is that okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should be fine, but I’ll be honest, most of us have never even </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>a First One, let alone delivered one’s kid,” Sabine tried to sound comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’ve got this,” Glimmer gave the midwife a pat on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll do what we can. It’ll be a learning experience for the lot of us, something for the history books,” Sabine looked towards Adora’s bedroom door, watching the attendants stream in, “Look, I have to get in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come? I should be there for her,” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I move faster with less distraction. Besides, I let you in and you’re gonna end up seeing a lot of things that’ll tie your stomach in knots,” Sabine said, trying to add some levity with a nervous laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell? I’m a goddamn soldier, I’m not squeamish,” Catra insisted, not hiding anything now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Lord Protector, and I’m sorry. This is just how I operate, though, and I really can’t screw this one up. That means I need complete focus. Okay?” Sabine explained, heading for the door, “I need to move.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a damn minute--” Catra called after the midwife, but it was for naught. Sabine had already shut the door. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was flicking her tail enough that it could’ve given any passersby whiplash. Her mind was racing with stress and uncertainty, awash with thoughts of unexpected medical errors and potential ways Adora or Harper could get hurt. Melog resumed his mewling, glaring at the bedroom door and crying out in his odd, flanged tones again and again. The anxious mother-to-be felt Glimmer rest a hand on her shoulder, and while it barely helped, it still helped nonetheless. She was thankful Sparkles--or perhaps ‘Puffball’? Puffball was certainly a fun name, so Catra could thank Sabine for that--was here with her, and that she didn’t have to endure this unpleasant scenario alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. It’s gonna be okay. Hope you know that,” Glimmer murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I dunno, Sparkles. You heard the midwife. These guys don’t know shit about First Ones. Don’t seem to know much about...what did she call me? A ‘magicat’ or something? Yeah, didn’t seem to know a lot about us either,” Catra began to ruminate nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it. Her bedside manner isn't great. That was what mom always said,” Glimmer had a quiet laugh at the observation, but Catra remained utterly stone faced; the Queen awkwardly cleared her throat in an attempt at a segue, “Look, I’m sorry. Adora’s tough as nails and Sabine’s an awesome midwife, so I really think it’ll work out in the end. I’m gonna bring us some coffee and find us a place to sit, and I’ll be right there with you through the whole thing. Okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Catra muttered, enthusiasm utterly absent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Glimmer asked again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” Catra snapped, proceeding to suck in an attempt at a calming breath, “Thanks. You’re pretty good, Your Highness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are friends for?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bourbon, usually,” Catra joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And gin, usually,” Glimmer returned their in-joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two smiled at each other through tight lips, trying to pay no mind to the disquieting noises already issuing forth from Adora’s room. Glimmer headed off to go and retrieve the various things she’d promised while Catra stood paralyzed in the hallway, feeling a bit underdressed in her bathrobe. All the while, Melog kept his gaze affixed to the bedroom door and cried out in distress. Catra felt like there wasn't much she could do except stand there, staring into space as she processed the guilt and the worry of just leaving Adora in there. Eventually, however, Glimmer </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>return, and things got a bit more manageable; Melog even shut up for like a fifth of a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sat just a little ways away from Adora's bedroom, down the hall and on the opposite end; that way, they could still see it while keeping a bit of distance. Glimmer set some couch cushions she’d pilfered on the ground, which proved surprisingly comfortable for something so simple. She brought both the promised coffee--dark roast with a splash of almond, just as Catra preferred--and some stuffed croissant thingies from the castle’s substantial kitchen; naturally, Catra went on a drawn-out tangent about how they were technically called ‘chocolatines’, perhaps further inflamed by how stressed she was. She figured the more words came out of her mouth, the more she could ignore her nagging fear as well as the unholy noises coming from Adora’s room. Glimmer listened and humored the Lord Protector, however, for she noticed Melog’s continued cries and knew how Catra truly felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noises from the bedroom were another thing. Catra was no stranger to the sound of anguish, of course. The field hospitals on Ahriman evidently skimped on soundproofing, and it wasn’t unusual for her to fall asleep to the hellish piping of agonized lungs and larynxes. Hearing those sorts of noises from Adora--especially for such a long time--was different, though. It cut deeper. All she could really do was sip her coffee, munch on her pastry and pray for a smooth, safe end to this process for Adora. And eventually, after all, her prayers would be answered; they came heralded with the sound of a newer, smaller voice, crying out amidst all the others. Following this tiny wail came the sound of shuffling feet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that went better than I expected. They really are made of steel, those First Ones…” Sabine, exhausted and riddled with dark stains all over her scrubs, exited the bedroom and sighed exasperatedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she okay? Is the baby okay? Tell me they’re both okay!” Catra blurted out in consternation, almost spilling her coffee as she ran over to the bedraggled midwife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, they’re doing great. You two are officially moms of a beautiful, healthy baby boy. Congratulations,” Sabine, still tired, grinned from ear to ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...that’s...</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my god…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Catra felt like the room was spinning, consumed with relief and joy and all of the good things, “May I see her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure can, just give us a bit to clean up and head out,” Sabine looked beaten to hell, but she was still smiling like crazy. For a moment she looked away, shaking her head. “There’s something so goddamn beautiful about this. I just delivered a half-First One, half-magicat baby. I guess that means you two won’t be all alone anymore, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never thought about it like that but yeah, I guess so. Even then, we always had each other,” Catra found herself grinning along with Sabine, feeling giddy with the rush of the good news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even better. Heh, I love this job,” Sabine then turned and started to head off, noticing the first of her retinue emerging from the room, “I’ll be coming to check on her periodically, both today and over the next little while. You need something, give me a call. Been an honor, Lord Protector.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise, ma’am,” just this once, Catra felt okay with someone being all hoighty-toighty with her. At least this time it was for bringing a life into the world rather than taking one away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra went back to her seat and gingerly nibbled her chocolatine as the medical guys funnelled out. Some distressed howls still pierced the air, but they were not Adora’s: they were, presumably, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harper’s. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Heaving a sigh, the tired but joyous new mom looked at her Queen and smiled brightly as she finished up her breakfast of sorts (it was like 5, so it was quite the early breakfast). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d better go meet my son,” Catra laughed dryly, “Feels pretty weird saying it out loud.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it a good sort of weird?” Glimmer asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course it is,” Catra replied with enthusiasm, swigging the dregs of her coffee and rising to her feet, “You wanna come too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. You three deserve some alone time as a family. There’ll be time for me to meet the little guy later,” Glimmer explained, “And a word of warning? Bow gets incredibly dorky around babies. You are not prepared. Trust me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is really </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a problem,” Catra laughed, hand curling around the bedroom door knob, “Thanks again, Sparkles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess in the end you did a hell of a lot more than one good thing with your life. I know you’re gonna take good care of the both of them, Catra.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know what? For once, I actually believe it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra’s heart pounded so hard as she turned the door knob that she could hear it in her ears. Even with the knowledge that all was well on the other side, stepping into this new reality felt scary as hell. Yet as she cracked the door open and witnessed her first glimpse of that reality, things felt a little less scary for just a moment. Even in her disheveled, sweat-dappled state, Adora was still the most beautiful woman in the world; already, she was radiant with motherly love. The little bundle in her hands, mewing and cooing softly, filled Catra with an irrational, overpowering sense of warmth she’d never felt before even from where she stood now. Practically hypnotized, Catra hardly felt Melog push past her, no longer crying and instead poking about in curiosity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Adora,” Catra’s voice was a thin gasp as she repeated her old greeting for the millionth time, “And, uh, hey, Harper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you,” Adora gently whispered, holding her and Catra’s newborn son close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh...you feeling okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. The midwife, she--” Catra started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. You wouldn’t have wanted to be here anyway. It was gross,” Adora winced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet I could handle it,” Catra crossed her arms against her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>you could,” Adora sneered, voice sleepy yet full of warmth. The two had a quick, quiet laugh at that. “Well? Don’t you wanna meet him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I? I don't wanna wake him--" Catra stammered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you can, Lord Doofus. You're his mom. Plus, he could probably sleep through a tornado at this rate," Adora joked, "I'm really wondering who the real idiot here is." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, I...Yep. Total idiot," Catra laughed and shook her head, inching over to Adora's bedside, "So anyway, can I?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. Just be gentle, okay?" Adora requested and she slowly passed Catra the little bundle in her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was indeed gentle with Harper, perhaps the most gentle she'd ever been with anything in her life. The tiny infant was wrapped neatly in a little purple blanket, glimpses of his auburn fur just barely visible at first. As Catra seated herself on the edge of the bed, resting baby Harper close to the folds of her warm red robe, she settled in enough to actually get a good look at her child for the first time. His eyes were shut tight, his little face pinched up and set against his little tuft of reddish-blonde hair. The short fur across his little cat-like frame was just like Catra’s. The two of them really weren’t alone anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boy...oh, my boy,” Catra wanted to say something more profound, but all she could do was hold little Harper in as close as she could, never wanting to let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you crying?” Adora asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Catra blurted out, flustered--she felt a little bad afterwards, fearing her noisiness would wake Harper--then noticed a warmth in her eyes and dabbed them with her finger; there were tears forming after all, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After all you’ve been through, I don’t blame you,” Adora smiled in understanding, still looking paradoxically radiant in her worn down state, “Think I might join in myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra snorted at Adora’s omission, still holding her son close. Even if he had barely any, his hair was so beautiful, just like a crimson-tinged version of Adora’s. He was perfect in every single way, and no words in the Etherian Basic tongue could describe how grateful Catra was to be here with him. Amidst this, however, the proud and awestruck new cat mom noticed that her boy was beginning to stir slightly. He didn’t cry, though. Instead, baby Harper simply squeaked, followed by a rapport of a familiar rumbling Catra knew too well; it was a noise she made herself rather frequently, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god Adora, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>purring</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Oh my god, oh my god…” Catra rambled in total disbelief, the sound of her son purring in her company just melting her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so cute,” Adora murmured, “I told you you’d be a great mom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, I guess so. Oh, my baby boy...Harper Pomegranate Meowmeow,” Catra felt the tears coming on stronger with every one of Harper’s gentle rumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora froze for a moment, going completely quiet. For a second, Catra assumed her lover had just passed out from exhaustion, but then she looked over at her (and really, it was so hard to look away from Harper right now; he had become the centre of her universe). The new mother and First One space marine looked positively unimpressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey,” Adora said with firmness, “I am not naming our son </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pomegranate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll have you know it’s tradition in House Meowmeow for everyone to have fruit-themed middle names.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re literally an orphan, dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a tradition starting </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I have it, Harper’ll have it, and so will his kids, and their kids, and…” Catra sighed, “You get the idea. Besides, look at that hair! He looks like a Pomegranate, see?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright kitten, whatever you say. I just pushed a little dude out of my cooch. I don’t have the energy to argue right now,” Adora admitted with a shrug, lying back in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra was going to laugh out some pithy, goading retort, but she figured she’d cut Adora some slack. She did have a point about how strenuous all of this must’ve been. Not only that, but she was quickly becoming aware of something else that distracted her in totality. It was a bit too magnificent in how well-timed it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora,” Catra said, still sounding dulcet so as not to scare Harper, “The sun is rising.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra wasn’t bullshitting the dazed and sleepy Princess, either. Just outside their window, the imposing minarets of Bright Moon lit up with a vibrant orange haze. The sky rippled with the very same shades of Harper’s little fuzzy form. There was something kind of profound about all of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s wonderful, Catra. Is it pretty?” Adora’s eyes were closed. She seemed to only be getting more and more comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So pretty. Almost as pretty as you,” Catra smiled at her sleepy girlfriend. It was weird, she didn’t see Adora acting tired and cute very often. Usually it was the other way around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sweet. I bet it’s the prettiest sunrise ever,” Adora sleepily drawled, “I’m still not getting up, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m pretty tuckered out too. Got room for one more? Uh, I mean two more,” Catra looked at Harper, then turned to look at Melog, still emitting curious meows, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Three </span>
  </em>
  <span>more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always,” Adora said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra smiled and let out a quick yawn. She was delighted to find that as she did so, baby Harper let out a tiny yawn of his own. Tired, soft and full of love, the Lord Protector gently took her son and nestled up beside Adora in the bed; the covers, the sunlight, even her </span>
  <em>
    <span>robe</span>
  </em>
  <span> just made everything feel so warm and soft. She hoped it was enough to show Harper that even in his first moments here, he was loved so very, very much. As Catra felt Melog crawl utop the end of the bed and curl up, she felt internal amazement at the beauty and satisfaction of it all. There would be no more blood, no more suffering, none of it for neither Catra nor Adora. Now, they were a family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did it, Adora…” Catra whispered softly, letting Harper’s insistent purring lull her back to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Adora mumbled, still managing to sound totally amazed and full of love, “We did it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. You Must Be Strong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the darkness, truth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Epilogue: You Must Be Strong </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Concrete walls. Impenetrable steel. Slit windows and artificial skies providing the only light. Station 17 life was perhaps still a bit...</span>
  <em>
    <span>cramped </span>
  </em>
  <span>what with the radiation and bandits on much of the surface. Still, it was home for many. Its tunnels and bunkers attracted many eager settlers looking to seek their fortune. With any luck, it’d be fully terraformed and cleared in a few more years, provided everyone pitched in. At least, that’s what the General said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper Pomegranate Meowmeow only really knows the bits of this that his parents tell him. Some days they go to the surface, some days they head into the city to get supplies or food, and other days they’re off performing repairs. Most days, however, cat mom works in the restaurant while space mom works in something called ‘politics’ or with the surface patrols. Today, though, everyone was off, and that meant company was over. That, of course, led to Harper utilizing their home bunker for what it was best at being: a place to play tag with his best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never get me, slowpoke!” Harper called over his shoulder, down on all fours and sprinting past the TV room towards the basement stairs. He damn near knocked over a vase of flowers on the way, but cat mom’s grace didn’t fail him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such an idiot, Harper!” Blossom Andromeda shouted in frustration, not too far behind the reddish blur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am not!” the half-magicat, half-First One boy spat his rebuttal as he thundered down to the basement head-first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper had to think quickly if he was going to maintain his lead. The basement was full of fun stuff to hide behind, Melog’s play area notwithstanding. Not only that, but Harper’s choice of attire today--space mom’s old Metallica shirt and some baggy black shorts--were the perfect camouflage for dark places. The ginger-maned cat boy crouched down behind a stack of old boxes, hearing his tomboyish friend’s footsteps snake their way down the steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper!” Blossom called into the dark, “Where are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper giggled to himself, trying to stay quiet. This was gonna be great. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” the half-scorpioni girl demanded, pushy and in charge like always, “You know you’re not even that good at hiding, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost time for Harper to make his move. He just needed his silver-haired playmate to get closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Harper--” Blossom started, only to get quite a shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Boo!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper shouted, startling the tomboy so much that she fell over and got her glasses knocked off her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fair!” Blossom pouted, dusting herself off and putting her thick-rimmed spectacles back on, “You can see in the dark better, cheater!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Harper bragged, “I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s tail wagged excitedly with his victory. He took after his moms when it came to winning, in that he was a very sore winner. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>a sore winner, in fact, that he didn’t notice Blossom strut over in her jean overalls and tap his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re it, idiot,” she sneered, looking quite proud of herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bloss</span>
  </em>
  <span>! That’s cheating! I was on timeout!” Harper huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never called it. It’s not cheating,” Blossom crossed her arms over her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is too!” Harper insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is not!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, like it or not, now you gotta catch me,” Blossom ordered, proceeding to take off deeper into the basement, “Smell you later, Meowmeow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something about when Blossom called Harper by his last name that made his blood boil. At the same time, though, it gave him a weird feeling in his stomach. Or maybe his heart. He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was one of those funnier-named places, like his pancreas or something. Regardless, he chased after his lifelong pal with gusto, just hoping she stayed away from the place his moms never let him play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go easy on you!” Harper called after Blossom as the two sprinted down the dimly-lit hallway, past a handful of closets as well as the washer and dryer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silver-haired, spectacled girl simply blew a raspberry. She was surprisingly fast in those bulky, mud-scuffed overalls and that stripey white-and-green t-shirt. Faster than Harper, maybe. After a couple more steps, however, it was pretty obvious that the hallway was a dead end. There was nothing on the other side except for a locked door, one Harper knew well enough he ought to stay clear of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” Blossom exclaimed, “Oh, no!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha!” Harper exclaimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom ground to such a screeching halt that the flowers her plant mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wear--she personally thought flowers were </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>--almost fell out of her hair. Well, not much she could do now. Harper was right next to her in an instant and sure enough, he gave her a poke on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you’re it, Bloss,” Harper giggled, tail flicking in glee yet again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper’s smugness made the half-scorpioni tomboy want to punch him in his stupid face, assuming she could even find it under all that strawberry blonde hair. Sadly, she still remembered how well that worked out the last time she tried it. Blossom was most certainly not looking forward to another earful from her moms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fair, Harper! I’m three years older than you but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>always beat me!” Blossom whined, stomping her foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat mom says I’m really fast. Faster than her. Can’t beat that,” Harper sneered, forever the braggart, “Come on, let’s see what’s for dinner. I’m not allowed down here anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? How come?” Blossom asked, looking over the locked door behind her and feeling tempted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. Moms said. Come on, Bloss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it about this door?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Bet we could sneak in. There’s probably something cool in there,” Blossom sized the unmarked-yet-imposing bulkhead up, getting curiouser and curiouser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? N-no, I’ll get in trouble! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blossom!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper worriedly blurted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a cat, Meowmeow, or a </span>
  <em>
    <span>chicken</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Blossom taunted, hands inching closer to the door handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a chicken!” Harper insisted, “Look Blossom, my moms just said not to, okay? Maybe we can give it a look when uncle Kevin is babysitting or something! He’s pretty cool, right? Besides, my moms said the door was locked anyway--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper didn’t have time to finish his explanation. His jaw practically touched the floor as he watched in horror as the door cracked open. Blossom had done it. His rebellious friend had really done it. They were gonna be in big trouble if Harper’s moms caught them. He’d probably get grounded for a bazillion years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So much for being locked,” Blossom snarked, looking victorious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blossom!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper whined in frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Harper. Don’t be such an idiot. I thought you weren’t a chicken?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m not! I guess one tiny peek couldn’t hurt...I dunno what’s even in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s find out!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two young friends snuck into the forbidden sanctum, Blossom plunging in with headstrong determination while Harper dragged his feet for once. Neither of them were prepared for the slew of artifacts inside. It was like Harper’s family had their own personal library, except </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>library had guns and swords on the walls and stuff. There were mannequins posed behind glass cases, wearing EPG uniforms from conflicts long past. A couple of them looked like something out of the old photos Harper had seen of his moms, back when they were in the wars. They never liked to talk about that, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What is this place, Harper?” Blossom asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno...let’s just try not to touch anything--” Harper started, but he was far too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m gonna go explore all of it! Woohoo!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Blossom cried out, running off excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper could only watch in something between terror and respect as Blossom ran from corner to corner picking books off of shelves and picking up dusty artifacts. There were framed portraits on the walls of Harper’s moms, together with someone who looked like the Queen and another guy with a bow. Harper only noticed because he was too scared to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, look at me! Die, mole rats, die!” Blossom came out from behind a bookshelf wearing an old Royal Army helm, plume and all. She was clutching a record sleeve close to her chest. “Also, it looks like your moms have a record player. Dunno if they have anything good, though. Who the heck is Prince? Is he related to your space mom or something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I--I dunno! Quick, put that stuff back before someone sees!” Harper yammered in a panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re no fun, idiot,” Blossom took the helmet off and stuck out her tongue, “Whatever. Not like I care. There’s a cool sword back here that I like more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come see for yourself, Meowmeow. Unless you really </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>a chicken.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? No way! You’ll see!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then get over here, tough guy!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper was scared as hell, but he wasn’t one to back down when Blossom goaded him on. She was always getting the better of him; practically the only place where the young magicat had an advantage was in tag. As he turned the corner to join Blossom by this cool sword she was enamored by, his blood ran cold. Of all the artifacts that had to catch her eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloss, that’s--” Harper stuttered, gazing up at the white, gold and cobalt bastard sword in the display case, “That’s space mom’s sword.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So that’s She-Ra’s sword?” Blossom pondered in wonderment, “Meh, thought it’d be bigger. Think we could get it out of the case?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blossom! No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Harper gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, come on Harper. I thought you weren’t a--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say it! I’ll get that sword and </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not a chicken once and for all!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? I bet you can’t even reach it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can too! Just watch!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper stomped his way over to his space mom’s sword, almost calling to him from its mount on the wall. It looked totally glorious in all its sparkly goodness; really, could his moms really blame him if he took it? He just wanted to impress Blossom, to finally prove to her that he certainly was not a chicken. Just as he reached a fuzzy hand up towards the case, however, he heard a painfully familiar voice that made his heart drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Harper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper and Blossom both spun around, turning and seeing the dark-haired magicat woman who’d snuck in behind them. It seemed like all she ever wore were flannels, assuming she wasn’t at the restaurant or out on parade or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat mom!” Harper blurted, deeply regretting “We were, uh, just leaving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, I’d hope so,” Catra sounded collected, but only on the surface, “You and your little girlfriend enjoying my study, H-bomb?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Eww! I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>his girlfriend! Gross, missus Catra!” Blossom growled indignantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, cat mom! Gross!” Harper joined in, though he admittedly felt himself blush at his mom’s accusation. Girls were yucky, he knew this, but Blossom gave him those heart-stomach-pancreas feels and he didn’t know what that meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, you dorks. I’m just pullin’ your leg. Let’s get you outta here while I’m still in a good mood. We’re about to order dinner anyway,” Catra turned to leave, waving for the kids to follow her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper perked up at the sound of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ordering dinner</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it didn’t really persuade him right now. He saw how disappointed his rough-and-tumble friend looked, and it filled him with a bizarre fire. Plus, having finally seen the inside of this room, he was feeling some pangs of frustration. He wanted answers. His moms </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>talked about the war, yet they had a stash with all this stuff from those days? It just perturbed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat mom, tell me about the war,” Harper almost demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Scuse me? You’re outta line, Harper,” Catra turned around, her politeness beginning to fade, “Just...forget everything you saw, got it? Come on. Maybe when you’re older.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m six years old, cat mom! I’m not a baby anymore!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five and three quarters, kiddo. Also, this coming from the guy who cried when I wouldn’t let him have </span>
  <em>
    <span>ice cream </span>
  </em>
  <span>for dinner last night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blossom let out a giggle at that particular embarrassing story. The noise caused Harper to only further blush, but he wasn’t about to back down. His moms were always keeping their secrets, and he hated it. Every time Harper asked about the war, they just blanched and gave him the ‘when you’re older’ line. That was how it had been for his whole life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--I really like ice cream, okay? Look, you always tell me I was born to do great things! How can I do great things when I don’t even know what my parents used to do?” Harper was desperate for answers. And also to show off in front of Blossom. Perhaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t say that,” Catra said, figuring while she was here she might as well clean the place up a bit. It seemed her ‘Purple Rain’ vinyl got messed with. “Space mom says that. I always say to just do </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> things because greatness is overrated. It’s not an easy thing to live in interesting times, bud. Believe me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t you just tell me?” Harper asked, desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper Pomegranate Meowmeow, the answer is </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dammit!” Catra snapped, “Now just go! Please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper found himself contemplating some kind of retort, but the words weren’t coming. His vocabulary probably wasn’t even big enough for whatever grownup terms he needed anyway. Maybe he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a baby after all. He just sighed and headed back around the corner and for the door, leaving space mom’s old zweihander behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper, hey! Wait up!” Blossom called after her friend, “It’s okay!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper wasn’t looking back, though. He’d let her down. Coming down here was probably stupid, anyway. He knew he was in big trouble from the start, and he knew his moms would never budge about the stupid war. That was that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or was it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, hold up,” Catra called to her son all of a sudden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harper just barely turned around, shoulders hunched. He saw that his mom had gotten Blossom’s attention too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” was all he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I blew up at you kids. I just...that stuff still hurts. I did bad things. Some of those bad things were to space mom. Dunno if I’ll ever get over it,” Catra sighed, hands in her pockets, “I guess a couple of old stories wouldn’t hurt, though. I guess you deserve to know a little, even if you do cry about ice cream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat mom,” Harper’s tone was somewhere between a whine and a laugh, “You’re embarrassing me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty funny,” Blossom giggled, smiling at Harper through her silvery locks, “You’re such an idiot, Harper.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now why did that make cat mom smile a little? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harper thought to himself, watching his mom’s odd reaction to Blossom’s retort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cut the kid some slack, Bloss. I’ve seen worse,” Catra tousled the tomboy’s hair, “So, anyway, you in, pal? I’d better ask space mom first, but--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Harper exclaimed, pumping his fist. Finally, some war stories. “This is great! Now that I’m grown up enough for the war stuff, can I start coming to hunt with you on the surface too, cat mom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, don’t push your luck. One thing at a time, man,” Catra smiled and shook her head, amused yet worried by her son’s enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no fair! I’m older than him, so I should get to hear about the war too!” Blossom demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy does it, Bloss. You’re welcome too. We’ll have to check with your moms first though, okay?” Catra asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! My moms are really nice, even if they do make me wear stupid girly things! I bet they’ll say yes!” Blossom insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, champ,” Catra shook her head, oddly amused, “Now let’s go. We’ll talk about it at dinner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we get the pizza with the pineapple on it again, cat mom? It’s my favourite!” Harper requested as the three of them headed out of the study. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, pineapple! That sounds cool!” Blossom, having never tried this particular pizza topping, seemed fascinated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looked behind her at the stash of dusty militaria and personal effects from years past, then looked at her son. Maybe sharing her story wouldn’t be a bad thing. If it all worked out, it might just help Harper grow as a person a bit. This new generation deserved a chance not to repeat the same mistakes, and they couldn’t do that without knowing what those mistakes were; in a way, then, she wasn’t terribly bothered by it all. Dinner was going to be a tough sell for anyone other than the three of them, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, geez, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought with some humour as she shut the door and let the kids run past, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adora’s gonna kill me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I keep tellin’ you, Jim,” Clarke said as he flicked the lights on, “Catra’s gonna save this paper. I can feel it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Station 17 Spartan</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s office was a modest place, little more than a bunch of cubicles set against the most beige walls ever recorded. It held the rare honour of being one of the few Station 17 institutions that operated on the surface. Buildings untouched by the radiation were prime real estate, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spartan </span>
  </em>
  <span>had snagged one somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With pretentious food reviews? Right…” Jamie rolled his eyes, locking the door behind him, “Should’ve stayed in the army.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious!” the blue-haired Horde clone insisted, settling down at his desk and giving his glasses a quick wipe with his shirt, “She’s getting a lot of attention. Much more than those clickbait articles on the EPG name change you kept signing off on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An older, beefier scorpioni man nearing the end of middle age, Jamie had to enter his office sideways on account of his shoulders. He plunked down at his big desk and tried to look busy, tired of the other journalist’s lip. His second-in-command just never knew when to shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, kid. A lot of people think the whole ‘Etherian </span>
  <em>
    <span>Parliamentary </span>
  </em>
  <span>Government’ thing is unnecessary. I’m giving the people what they want. It’s business, son,” Jamie explained, voice perpetually gruff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone with half a brain knows a provisional government is impermanent. It was always gonna change,” Clarke groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still sounds more important than listening to some washed-up leatherneck ramble about mouthfeel,” Jamie insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, she’s still getting clicks, isn’t she?” the Horde clone scrivener shook his head, exasperated, “Look, forget it. Just hurry up and check the submissions pile. I wanna see if there’s anything worth publishing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamie knew full well there was never a damn thing worth publishing in the submissions pile. It was always a bunch of badly-written crap written by kooks. As the scorpioni man flipped through the thick folder on his desk, he felt as if his suspicions were more or less confirmed; they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> confirmed, that is, until he saw one particular submission amidst the rest. A heavy, sealed envelope, marked with the simple label of ‘THE TRUTH’ in huge capital letters, stuck out like a sore thumb. The somewhat ordinary envelope also bore an odd little etching of the Dryl Industries logo, looking a bit like it had been scratched on with a knife or claw or something. Jamie didn’t have time to examine everything, but upon peeling the top off and glancing at a couple of documents within, it looked like part of an old war journal. This was most certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the usual angry, badly-written screeds Jamie was used to receiving. Just what the hell was this, anyway? It seemed juicy, whatever it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Clarke called across the office, “You find anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jamie drawled after some hesitation, “Yeah, I think I did…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If we don’t end war, war will end us.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-HG Wells </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I prefer peace. But if trouble must come, let it come in my time, so that my children can live in peace.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-Thomas Paine </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Post Scriptum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A quick, tangential word from the author before the curtains fall.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Post Scriptum </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hi, I’m the author. Before I start my little afterword ramble, I just wanted to say that Stephen King typically takes three months to finish a novel. Now, what does that mean for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ahriman Martyr</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you ask? Well, it means I finished a WIP faster than Stephen King usually takes with his! Suck it, Stephen King! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, sorry, back on topic here. I just wanted to give thanks to all of the recurring and new readers who supported this fic through to the end. The handful of kudos, comments and views I’ve gotten on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martyr</span>
  </em>
  <span> are actually the largest amount of fan engagement I’ve gotten on anything I’ve ever written. I’m glad this weird thing found an audience. The fun thing about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martyr</span>
  </em>
  <span> is that it at least makes attempts at being smart and asking some big questions like whether a flawed democracy is better than a perfect dictatorship (in the case of Thaddeus Typhon, a dictatorship where everyone has become one large blob with literally no room for individuality), but it’s also a pastiche of campy bullshit with an implied horse prime minister and a vibrator arm. I think that’s generally a vibe that I carry in all my work, and judging by the fact that you are, against all odds, still here, there just might be some method in the madness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think Catra kind of embodied a lot of this madness as a protagonist. She’s sort of the grizzled Hollywood badass: she’s John Wick, she’s Han Solo, she’s Snake Plisskin. However, she doesn’t really want to be like any of those people, and is at least making an attempt to bury that past as a professional killer. I also made her trans for some reason and that kind of gave me a mouthpiece for my own interrogations of my gender and sexuality as a trans person (not in a way that’s too self-inserty, mind you; Catra is a trans woman, whereas my relationship with gender is pretty complicated at the moment. Still some overlap though). But then you’ve also got her spouting one-liners and doing Alex Murphy gun tricks and the like. So yeah, pastiche. I think if you can’t mix the smart with the dumb, you risk coming across as a bit too far up your own ass, so I try to mix them with chaotic frequency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a word about what I’m doing next. I have multiple short fics in the pipeline ranging from cute, smutty, and the elusive cute </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>smutty. However, there is a full-length followup to this fic in the very early stages right as I’m typing this. The name of the fic is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Escape From Station 17, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it will star Harper and Blossom. It’s not a war story. Rather, it’s more of a road movie, a coming-of-age story, and an off-kilter romance that deals with some ideas I think are worth touching on. I want to plan it out formally first, however (much of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martyr </span>
  </em>
  <span>was completely made up on the spot), so you won’t be seeing that one for a while. I’m incredibly hyped, however! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sincerely yours, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sleepy_lil_hyena, Ministry of Truth, Etherian Parliamentary Government</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dedicated to those who gave their lives in the Second Great Horde War. In loving memory of Sea Hawk, Lonnie and Giancarlo. Etheria Aeternum.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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